


The Hero Across the Way

by decaf_kitty



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Bottom Hatake Kakashi, Jaded Teacher Iruka Umino, M/M, Superheroes, Tired Anti-Hero Kakashi Hatake, Top Umino Iruka
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26848105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decaf_kitty/pseuds/decaf_kitty
Summary: Kakashi's a superhero who wears spandex, summons lightning, flies through the air, hoards all his trash, worships his dog, cries a lot, and never, ever sleeps.Iruka's a "superhero" who teaches at a middle school, recycles, bikes to work, curses a lot, wonders why his power is so worthless (he can influence emotions?? it only makes teaching teens more terrifying!), and is just living out the incredibly boring life of a lonely bachelor guy.After a battle in the sunset skies and an encounter on a wrong balcony, they learn that they live in the same apartment complex... and that maybe, just maybe... they can help each other out.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka
Comments: 58
Kudos: 234





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a bit sloppy and probably full of dark comedy. I hope to write all three parts this week (October 5-11). Sex will 100% occur in 2nd and 3rd part. I enjoy Jaded Cursing Teacher Iruka and Exhausted/Depressed Superhero "Loser" Kakashi. Also, Pakkun in all his ancient kingly pug glory. I hope you laugh a few times, smile at the good parts, and enjoy the meal with the sex scenes in Chapter 2 & 3\. Overall, I just hope you enjoy this one. Bless you, always. Super thrilled you're still alive out there in the world.
> 
> ______

Superheroes – they’re supposed to be… well, heroic. 

Iruka wasn’t that. Not really, anyway. He taught middle school. He rode his bike to work. He recycled. He didn’t drink himself to death. He – well, he just did what anyone would do. Sure, he had his little power, but that was it, it was a little power, and he used it… only a little. 

When he saw super-powered humans on TV or doom-scrolling through social media, he barely associated them with himself. How could he? Men encased in flame, bringing down buildings. Women flying through the air on angelic wings. Kids changing the whole damn atmosphere to stop hurricanes from obliterating the coastline. And there he was – just… sitting there, staring down at his phone in his hand, tired as all fuck from the monotony of work, wondering what he’d microwave for dinner tonight. So yeah, he didn’t relate very much to superheroes.

He might utilize his power at school sometimes, but it seemed to work like a lighter if he flicked the switch too hard, and then it sparked all weird, and the students all brightened, and Iruka watched with increasing alarm as it spread across the classroom, and then he had two dozen teenagers to shout down from an cacophonous clusterfuck of ambition, excitement, and joy.

Completely. Exhausting.

On rare occasions, like tonight, Iruka smoked tobacco. It was a stupid habit, it would definitely lead to his early death, but he was both agitated and bored, and he had two cigarettes left in an old pack. His new apartment complex was a good one, a courtyard in the middle, the balconies facing each other, surrounded by big blue skies and shiny glass skyscrapers. 

This end of the day ritual was one meant for bad days, when he felt low and lonely, and so Iruka smoked, looking up at the fading sunset. 

There was probably more to life than this, but… this was all he had.

Parents dead. Friends disappeared. College long over. High school a distant memory. There were his students, but those were hormonal teenage terrors, not his confidantes, not his friends. He breathed out smoke in a slow sigh, surveying the clouds stretched across the sky. 

The clouds parted – they cut in two.

Squinting at the sight, Iruka tilted his head to the side, confusion prickling over him. It looked like a divine weapon had cleaved the pink clouds, a very strange sight indeed. He went to take another drag of his cigarette when he noticed the crackling of electricity right in the middle – right where there were now no clouds. The sparkles turned over into lightning, except instead of going down, they went sideways, and Iruka stood the fuck up, because he was going the fuck inside.

Obviously a superhero was fighting a supervillain above his apartment in the sunset skies. Iruka had no way to help out, but he definitely could get injured and die messily, so inside he would go!

Yet, as he pulled open the sliding door and put one foot inside, he still felt the silly irrepressible need to look back, to look up, to see if –

_I don’t know. Maybe they actually need my help…?_

Of course, he had no idea how in burnt hell he could help, but Iruka often found himself doing very idiotic hopeful-hopeless things, and this was just one more time of him doing such a thing. So, he looked back and up at the electricity-filled skies, holding the burning cigarette in his hand, standing in the open balcony door.

The lightning was coming towards him.

Not towards the building – 

**Him.**

Iruka did not have time to do anything before his hair shot upwards in protest of his loose ponytail along with the hair on the back of his arms.

Then his heart punched his ribcage because -

The superhero landed bad, hitting the side of Iruka’s balcony. His side and shoulder smacked brick, his arm caught the metal railing, and his hand, fearfully swift, snatched the nearest thing to him, which was Iruka’s tomato plant. They didn’t last a second in the man’s grip: the two that he crushed into his palm immediately burst, dripping liquid and seeds onto the concrete floor. The railing fared better, creaking but staying upright. The brick didn’t seem to notice its new friend whatsoever, which Iruka thanked God about, worried that the building might crumble at the superhero’s sudden impact. 

And it really was a superhero – a proper one – like from his feed and the TV.

The man had a thin hard body underneath what looked like several serious layers of dark blue spandex. Even his face was mostly covered, the material stretched up over his nose and across all his neck. A heavy metal headband fell down his left eye, meeting the spandex over his cheek. His silver hair flushed up like spikes yanked up by cruel cherubs… and his one grey eye was watery.

That, more than anything, caught Iruka’s attention, because who the fuck ever heard of a superhero crying?

_I mean, I cry all the time, but I don’t really count…_

Still, he unthinkingly reached out for the man on his balcony, the one flicking off electric bits, the one fallen from the battle in the skies, since Iruka’s compassion always overwrote any natural sense of fear.

Strangely, the man was already reaching for him, which was really wild and confusing, and for some reason, Iruka didn’t stop moving, except then their hands passed each other, and –

The superhero snagged the cigarette from Iruka’s other hand, ripped down the spandex covering his own mouth, and took in a laborious, industrially toxic drag. His one-eyed gaze never considered Iruka but instead flitted around the courtyard, looking at all the other balconies. He shook his hand to get rid of the dripping tomato lifeblood, and then breathed out so hard that Iruka swore he could see the silver-haired man’s lungs swell under the tight blue spandex. But his gaze shot back up to the stranger’s face, because he abruptly realized he’d seen this guy before – 

“Wrong balcony,” the disheveled superhero announced suddenly. He passed back the cigarette to Iruka so fluidly, it was instinctive to take it, and then the man was balancing on the metal railing with both feet, and then he was jumping the hundred feet between Iruka’s balcony and the one directly across from his apartment.

Shock was an understatement for what was coursing through him, but Iruka knew that’s what it was. He could taste it on his tongue more bitter than the adrenaline of the man’s arrival and departure, all of which had happened in less than thirty seconds.

He was staring idiotically across the courtyard as the superhero hopped down from the opposite apartment’s balcony, opened the sliding door, and then closed it behind him.

The ash from the dying cigarette burnt Iruka’s fingers, and he was jolted back to reality.

His two tomatoes lay murdered on the concrete, their existence squeezed out of them. There was fresh red blood on the end of Iruka’s cigarette… from the superhero’s mouth, which must have been badly cut on the inside… from his battle in the skies. It seemed wrong to have evidence of something so colossal and godly and fucking crazy in his hands, and yet –

Iruka smashed it in the ashtray and went back inside, determined to forget everything.

He would have managed it, too, even though his life was incredibly boring and nothing would have ever stood out as much as a lightning man landing on his balcony, except –

That superhero was his neighbor, and he had an old pug for a pet. 

This Iruka realized when he saw the man the next morning before school, dressed in threadbare greyed-out once-black pajamas and sad flip-flops while standing outside the apartment complex near the bikes. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the same man, the superhero who killed his tomatoes and took a turn on his cigarette, because the guy had the same pale pronounced cheekbones and silver hair and single grey eye…

Also, he looked just as lazy and bored as he did on Iruka’s balcony. A weird atmosphere hung around him, like a dark rainy cloud was stuck permanently above him. The man didn’t look like a superhero at all – hell, he looked like a loser, someone who would bum cigarettes and eat up all your food and drink your beer and never pay you back, which was absolutely true, because he’d basically done just that to Iruka just yesterday. Yet there was the undeniable truth the man had been in the sunset skies the day before, summoning lightning, fighting unseen foes…

Iruka wasn’t going to say anything, but the man and his old dog were standing in his way, so he ended up, very awkwardly, gesturing towards his dented red bicycle.

The man – the superhero! – looked blankly back at him.

It was… embarrassing? Obviously he hadn’t left any imprint on the man, he didn’t remember Iruka – who was really quite pissed that he’d lost a pair of fine upstanding vegetables last night.

Suddenly, everything snapped within him. The sickness at his endless monotonous life. His ridiculous power. Not knowing what to do with his life. 

So, pointing directly right at the surprised tomato-murdering son of a bitch, Iruka declared tightly, his voice molten, “Fuck. You. Man.” and then stormed past him so he could grab his bicycle and ride to work.

Weirdly, though, as he past the superhero, he caught a wobbly movement just on the side of his vision. Iruka looked quickly to his left, worriedly realizing he might actually get into a fight!

Down on the ground, the pug looked stricken, its little mouth slack, its eyes up on its owner, whereas the man…

Oh shit.

The man was clutching at his chest, digging hard into his sternum, staring blindly at nothing at all. Something was happening, something was definitely wrong! Instantly, Iruka flung his bike aside and had snatched the man by his shoulders, trying to lift his head to see his expression. But the silver hair thickly covered half his shocked features, and the superhero was collapsing down even with Iruka’s desperate support. He found himself stammering out, “No, no, no,” as if that would do something, but then he was trying with more coherence, fixing it with, “Please, it’s okay, I didn’t mean that, you’re fine, I’m just mad at stupid other shit, you’re okay, please –”

The pug did not seem especially persuaded, but, during those last few words, the man’s grey eye lit up through his silver hair, his gaze locking on Iruka’s face. 

“- you trying to kill me?” he just barely heard the man say.

Iruka stared so very uselessly at the superhero half-collapsed in his arms. Then he mumbled, all drawn-out and awkward, “Noooo…” before then stammering while watching the man’s pale features turn absurdly incredulous in response to him, “No. I. No, not at all.”

But the man was understandably skeptical now, his one stormy eye narrowed. Strangely, though, he looked like he’d been splashed by a car hitting a rain puddle, drenched and despondent, an unlucky bastard at the end of a long, long day… even though it was seven in the morning. Blushing insanely fast, Iruka manhandled the pitiful superhero to his feet and then practically pushed him away in a rush to return to his bicycle. There was no fucking way he could determine what he’d just done – but oh, God, he really had – just, ignore that shit, go to work.

The kids at school were tumultuous terrors, bored little demons. They seemed simultaneously reverent of Iruka, and also so very ready to rebel against him, like he was bloody brutal dictator. Halfway through classes, he noticed grass stains on his pants from falling down to grab the lightning tomato-murderer. Damn… now he’d have to get dry-cleaning done. 

His sour mood seemed to affect the students. They were picking on each other more than usual after lunch. Political debates broke out, and then dumb drama about TikTok, and oh God, just –

Just. Shut. Up.

And… huh. They did. The kids all quieted down. They did their work. 

Iruka hung his head in his hands, wincing to himself. 

Had he hurt that superhero? How could he? His power was minimal. Just sparked a little joy. Made people smile. Manipulate his class to actually pay attention!

His ride home brought him through rubble from another superhero-supervillain fight, one he’d missed on social media while he was busy teaching. It must have been something significant. The McDonalds was destroyed: that sucked, he liked their dollar menu. Considering he was paid like a feudal peasant to be a teacher, he needed that McDonalds to survive. What a shitty day.

Iruka didn’t even stop to take off his work clothes – he went from his front door to his balcony door, fumbling with the last cigarette in the pack. The lighter was still on the fritz, but God.

God, please.

He leaned down on the railing, smoking, wondering about sorrow. Buddha said life is suffering, but Buddha was also dead, so maybe not so motivational… The little old pug this morning had looked so shocked when Iruka yelled at its owner… ha, its little open mouth and big black eyes had been so surprised! Aw, poor thing… Half-hanging over his balcony railing, Iruka closed his eyes loosely, smiling to himself, trying to relax his shoulders. 

Ah, shit. Should he apologize to that guy? It wasn’t really obvious what he’d done, but they both seemed to have agreed that it was Iruka who’d done it… he’d hurt the man. 

Iruka wrinkled his nose, scrunched up his face.

Well, it had already been such a bad day. All coffins must have a final nail to finish them, before they sink into the dirt and rot away with the corpse inside. 

The last nail in the coffin…

He glanced up at the “right balcony” – the one where the superhero lived. The depressed man, the one wearing old pajamas outside. Just yesterday, he’d been sheathed in tight blue spandex, glittering metal headband on his face, but then again, he’d been crying on Iruka’s balcony… right before he’d stolen a cigarette! 

Before he knew it, Iruka was making a weird face, not understanding what the fuck his neighbor was… who he was. 

He drifted around the complex to reach the opposite side of apartments. The very parallel apartment to his own, it would be this one, so Iruka paused, took a deep breath, and knocked. 

As to be expected, there was no immediate reply, which was just enough to say, hey, let’s just go back home and binge-watch Parks & Rec for the fourth time. 

Still.

With all the other things today, Iruka hadn’t wanted to think about it. 

But he did now.

The superhero – the man… - he had felt… sort-of fragile in Iruka’s arms. Not that he wasn’t muscular! He was, like frighteningly so. In ways that made Iruka sick, actually sick and insecure. But… there was a skeletal feel to the man, like hollow bones, like feathers. He hadn’t seemed invincible at any point, honestly. If anything, Iruka’s neighbor had seemed… well… pathetic. 

As if on cue, the door opened.

“Kill me quick,” the pathetic neighbor said.

Which made Iruka’s jaw drop, which made the superhero/sad man roll his one visible eye up to God, which made Iruka realize that he could see inside his neighbor’s apartment.

It was the most bachelor / hoarding / extreme-depression-case he’d ever seen outside of TV. Pizza boxes stacked up to the top of the fridge. Stereotypical Chinese take-out boxes littering every available counter-space. Fast food wrappers in various shapes (… were those origami cranes?) on the built-in bookshelves and pre-furnished coffee table. Empty Starbucks drinks wove about in a literal maze across the wood floor of the living room. Iruka could read a few from standing in the hallway: Mocha Frappuccino, Iced Pink Drink, Ten Espresso Shots PLEASE, Pumpkin Spice Latte Extra Whipped Cream? 

And… and… oh, there was the old pug, its little eyebrows raised curiously, looking at Iruka. 

In the trash-filled room, the dog had a miniature, mauve-colored leather couch all to itself, with a tiny knitted multi-colored throw hanging off the backside, along with one comfy black pillow.

Huh.

“This is really sad,” Iruka blurted out.

The man stared back at him.

Embarrassed heat flew up Iruka’s face: he abruptly thought about seppuku. Trying to correct himself, he started overly gesturing at nothing and rambling: “I mean, you need a maid service, you seem really busy, saving people and the city. I can’t afford one, but you probably could, you’re ordering out a lot, so it just seems like you could have a maid –” 

But, as the man tiredly stared at him, unblinking his one eye, his expression deadpan, Iruka realized oh, of course a superhero can’t have a cleaning service!, so he swiftly but clumsily shifted course, saying, “But then again, this could be a fun Sunday afternoon thing? Like, cleaning up everything? I know sometimes I just get sick of grading and start cleaning. Maybe that could be what you do? Maybe? What do you think?”

A pause, a beat of silence.

Iruka slowly noticed that the man was exhaustedly slouched to the side, one hand in his grey-black pajama pocket. His whole demeanor was one of complete disinterest, but also neutrality, total flat neutrality. Except for the overwhelming mess of the apartment, and the adorable ancient pug, the superhero didn’t seem particularly exceptional… just a worn-out, bored loser listening to some stranger pontificate wildly at his door.

A new kind of embarrassment hit Iruka. It was that always-there fear of not making an impact. Of being a lifelong nobody. Of his stupid little power. The shame of it all crushed into his throat, clawed up into his jaw muscles, dug into his cheekbones, worked across his long facial scar. He fluttered his eyes, casting them away, unintentionally staring down at their shoes. 

Well, he had his work shoes. A bit scuffed from work, from cycling, but his brown leather shoes.

His neighbor didn’t have on any shoes. His pale skin was covered in dried red-brown blood.

Iruka looked up sharply at the other man, who was still staring at him, completely unchanged. He looked so, so exhausted, like one little sad storm cloud had poured down upon him all day, chilling him and fatiguing him to his very bones. The bag under his grey eye was a dark hammock, thick and pillowy. His cheekbones stood gaunt, his skin eerie pale, his lips greyish.

For a surreal moment, he worried he’d done something to the superhero, but then Iruka simply said, “Hey, are you okay? Do you need any help?”

The man’s silver hair stayed over his left eye, where the headband had been yesterday. Yet his right eye did that lighting trick again, turning a brighter shade, as he appreciated Iruka’s words.

In fact, a serious contemplation swept over the superhero: he obviously considered Iruka quite studiously, made a silent calculation, and then pulled open the door, nodding with his head for Iruka to come inside. Although it made much more sense to get the fuck out, Iruka found himself stupid with curiosity, and he wandered into the kitchen, dodging Starbucks on the ground and trying not to upset the pizza-towers. When he looked back at the man who closed the door behind them both, stunned surprise wild-bird-fluttered up through his insides, because the situation had turned over once again.

His neighbor had gone into the bedroom. It was in the same place as Iruka’s – off on the left. In there, unlike the kitchen and living room, nothing blanketed the plush cream carpet, nothing marred the surfaces of the built-in bookshelves. The mattress on the floor sat straight on the floor, no wood or box spring, and so too now did his neighbor, first sitting down, then laying down.

The movement drew Iruka’s admiring attention far too keenly across the other man’s body.

A stretch and a twist meant the old grey-black pajama shirt rode high, exposing much of the superhero’s stomach. His skin was miles of ghostly-white, with a thousand grey scars in the shapes of long trenches and bomb craters from world wars. Dried red-brown blood-splatter dotted up towards his hipbone - his or someone’s else’s. Silver trailing down into his loose pajamas confirmed his unusual hair color was natural, some fantastic superhero trait of his. 

… the man _positively radiated_ sex.

It did not help – _not whatsoever_ – that he was now looking up longingly at Iruka… with two eyes.

The new other eye, the one hidden until now – oh, Iruka was laid low by it.

Brilliant scarlet-red with black party-glitter met Iruka’s gaze with such sweet piteous hope.

“Use your power to help me sleep?” the man wondered aloud. 

Hell, Iruka wasn’t sure if he even had a superpower at this point, but he’d never felt more desperate to help another person, so he kneeled down on the end of the mattress and nodded with a deep loyalty borne out of a sudden bewildering moment. It didn’t even occur to him that the nightstand lamp was already off in the bedroom, that the kitchen lights danced in gently.

Sighing in dark relief, the man reached up and pushed his hair off of his face, revealing…

Oh, he had a scar like Iruka’s, only his stretched up from a black beauty mark to his forehead, bisecting the startling scarlet-red eye… perhaps it was the reason he had such an eye…? 

“What should I call you?” Iruka asked, his voice hushed, feeling uncertain, on edge.

His neighbor’s perpetually half-lidden eyes lowered even more – and he tilted his head to the right, his long awful scar now fully displayed, his silver hair fluttering aside. The movement, too, revealed the barest sign of burst blood vessels in his throat. The smile that slid on his lips was a pained scathing thing, more than a bit mystified and amused. 

“Hmm, well…” the sex-god tomato-murderer murmured, “ _you_ can call me Kakashi.”

Although he seemed particularly relaxed, the man did tense a bit as Iruka scooted closer, instinctively wanting to put his hand on… Kakashi’s shoulder. Those dissimilar eyes brightened, realizing exactly what was about to happen, but he seemed to let it occur anyway, staying unmoving. The touch was softer than Iruka had even intended; it seemed so alien to be trying to help the lightning superhero from the sunset battle, the one who crashed into his balcony yesterday.

Still, the moment they made contact –

Kakashi went limp, and his extraordinary eye vanished behind its eyelid. 

However, his grey eye, half-lidded, stayed focused on Iruka.

“Neat trick,” he said in a low tone, sounding truly impressed. Suddenly feeling shockingly flattered, Iruka watched as his abruptly very-sleepy neighbor lowered his single-eyed gaze… and surveyed Iruka’s facial scar, delving in like he was canyon-diving from a thousand feet away. 

“What’s…” he started out while looking down deep into Iruka’s scar tissue, into his past, into his trauma, but then he flicked up that solitary grey eye, shining like a diamond, “your name?”

Unable to look away, his mouth parched desert-dry, he replied, “It’s Iruka. Go to sleep.”

Spread out on his bed, Kakashi didn’t move away from Iruka's hand, but his expression shifted just slightly. This time his smile wasn’t self-deprecatory; it was drowsy and pleasant and weak. He only just got out “Iru…” before his eyelid creased over the glowing grey and his shoulders slumped back into the mattress from where he’d been holding them tight, high, and tense.

His head spinning, Iruka literally could not process what the good fuck had just happened.

Obviously Kakashi took risks – he was a fucking superhero! So - trusting Iruka must not be so insane, when it was actually obviously super-insane?! Here and now, the man was passed out so thoroughly that Iruka could see his chest rise and fall with deep steadying breath. 

He tried to glance around, but then had the shock of his life when –

The pug was sitting in the bedroom door, staring at him very seriously.

It was as if a little pink neon sign was blinking above its head:

_Don’t you dare try to kill him again!_

How Iruka could possibly explain that was NOT what he had meant earlier – ugh, God. He tried to express it with a sympathetic face, but the pug only squinted at him more threateningly, and Iruka felt his heart clench in response. 

Shit. Just what had he gotten into – in the last five fucking minutes? 

But as he stole a glance back towards Kakashi, his pathetic neighbor, the pug took advantage of his distraction and snuck over to the mattress, hopping over and then onto the long lean man’s chest, curling up on its entirely unconscious owner.

… the superhero on his balcony had been crying when he stole Iruka’s cigarette. 

He was doing the same thing again as he dreamt tonight.

And, just like before, Iruka desperately wondered how he could help.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I don't know how long this will be. It's sloppy, but fun, and I think I want them to have lots of crazy sex, so I'm taking off the 3 chapters, with the assumption it'll be 4-6 chapters.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, hope you laugh, hope you blush!! You deserve all the best things in the world. You dangerous pretty thing, you.♡ 
> 
> I always, ALWAYS love comments, even though I am the WORST at replying to them. I'm giddy-flustered when I see the email notifications for your comments, let alone reading them, whew! Sometimes I print them off and stare at them. Just FYI. You really do make a difference in this little writer's life. Thank you so much. ♡
> 
> ____

It turned out that befriending a real superhero meant super-awkward interactions at super-inconvenient times. In some ways, Iruka should have known better. His daily doom-scrolling for the last few years had showed him the shitty life of superheroes: they answered the calls of police, politicians, the public, at all hours of the day and night, to whatever horror-show needed their mighty intervention. They got weird nicknames. They had stalkers.

The latest World Conquering Group, the Akatsuki, were a bunch of ragtag creeps, almost all men (because of course they were). Supposedly they were collecting animal artifacts for the dastardly aims of world conquest.

Although he never said as much, Kakashi seemed to be fighting the Akatsuki in particular. Their battles (at least the big flashy ones) lined up with the times that Kakashi later stumble-landed on his balcony. Of course, Iruka never felt brave-stupid enough to ask his neighbor, “Hey, so… whose blood is painting your skin?” But he could make intelligent assumptions - and he did. 

After a month of knowing him, Iruka was pretty sure that a personal problem existed between Kakashi and the Akatsuki – or, as people on social media called them, Lightning Man and Those Cloud Dicks.

Of course, in some ways, Iruka didn’t really care. His work was increasingly bullshit. His Department Head asked way too much of him. Their team meetings were absurd. For some reason they’d been convening three times a week – and often during lunch?? The nagging emails from admin were endless, at all hours, including late at night, on the weekends. One of his colleagues had a breakdown after her grandchildren staged an intervention about her working so much. They gave her such a guilt-trip that she ended up sobbing in the breakroom between classes while Iruka consoled her with his own shrieking internal dismay. His shrill discomfort came from the sudden realization: no one would stage an intervention for _me_!

If anything, Iruka never felt more alone. Sure, his strange neighbor sometimes dropped by, and Iruka had visited him a few times… but Kakashi was what Iruka had surmised at the very start.

A mooch.

The worst part about being neighborly with Kakashi was the man’s crazy chaotic schedule. 

At precisely 2:48 AM on a Friday morning, four weeks after they first met, Iruka woke up to a series of short lazy taps on his bedroom window. 

He sighed to himself, rubbing at his fatigued eyes and facial scar. 

It was the seventh time he’d woken up to that sound in the last month. The first time had scared him terribly; when he went to the window, he’d nearly smashed in Kakashi’s face with a baseball bat. Fortunately but freakishly, the weepy mess of a man had caught the weapon with one hand, shook a bag of donuts with his other hand, and then silently slipped inside Iruka’s apartment. 

Inexplicably, that’s what _always_ happened now between them: his depressed neighbor showed up in spandex, usually with blood and electricity dripping off him, bringing with him donuts as thanks. During the daytime, Kakashi dropped on the balcony and just stood there, waiting by the tomato plants, treating it like a line at Disneyland. At night, he went to Iruka’s bedroom window, hung off the one-inch sill, and knocked in a perverted show of politeness.

No matter the time, the man’s objective was always the same: _hey, help me go to sleep._

Sure, Kakashi added, here’s some food, but, after a month, Iruka felt badly exploited. It didn’t help that school was mistreating him so much on top of his aggravating freeloader. Plus, and this was just fucking killing him, Kakashi always dragged his battles inside Iruka’s apartment. Like, we’re talking tons of blood, just comical amounts, and that stuff _stains!_ There was mud a few times, and black feathers multiple times, and one very, very weird time, Kakashi stood on the balcony, soaked in water, smelling like seafood, shivering and looking like pale fishy death. 

Compassion dictated not to be a dick to a superhero saving the world. Clearly, the man was doing real work for all of humanity, but his compensation seemed to be nightmares. Apparently Kakashi did get financial payment (the man had zero understanding of money, trying at first to give Iruka his physical checkbook, which Iruka flung back at him, hitting him in the face), but…

It didn’t really seem worth it, if Iruka was being honest.

Seriously, no one checked on the poor guy.

… not that Iruka fucking cared very much at 2:48 AM! He had to teach advanced grammar in six hours! GRAMMAR! TO CHILDREN! TO MONSTROUS LITTLE CHILDREN!!

Oh, God, he wanted to snap again, but… shit, when he had yelled before, cursing Kakashi, he’d nearly killed the man… so… okay, swallow down exasperation, keep going, sacrifice for everybody, don’t complain so much. It’ll be fine. It’s always fine!!

This night (morning?) at 2:48 AM, Kakashi ducked inside with donuts. He was wearing the usual dark blue spandex, but his metal headband was tucked up high in his silver hair, leaving his gaze to peruse the apartment, casually looking for danger lurking in the corners. There wasn’t any, of course. Iruka’s apartment consisted of the cheapest IKEA furniture, stuff from Good Will, and things he’d gotten from yard sales ten years ago. He had no pets, just like he had no friends, and barely any will to live. Watching Kakashi glance around this time, it was obvious the battle tonight had been an upsetting one. Not only were the man’s cheekbones already wet with tears, he was pooling somebody’s blood on Iruka’s bedroom carpet, and not a little amount.

The asshole didn’t even notice.

Iruka stared with the burning intensity of a thousand suns as a lone fat droplet of red blood rolled down Kakashi’s tight spandex-clad calf… swept the curve… crept the arch of his Achilles tendon… then… sunk deep down into Iruka’s pretty pristine cream-yellow carpet.

“Get the fuck off my carpet.”

Legitimate confusion sparked in Kakashi’s mismatched eyes: he turned to look at Iruka like he was just now seeing him. The action was even more infuriating! Before Iruka could stop himself, he walked over and two-handed shoved the superhero into the kitchen as veins popped out furiously from his neck. 

Surprisingly, Kakashi went with the motion. This close, it really was visible just how much the man wept – he had dried streaks of tears at odd angles on his half-scarred face from flying through the midnight skies. 

Not that Iruka cared! God, this much blood was going to be a bitch to clean. He madly glowered back at his bedroom carpet, tracking like a hound the red trail that Kakashi had left this time.

Fuck. _Fuck._

He turned to scold the man –

Kakashi had half his spandex suit off.

Iruka stopped thinking.

This was what a normal human would look like if they had Kakashi’s body: they’d be pale-skinned, from some kind of mixed European ancestry; they’d have a long body, maybe 5’10-6’1; they’d weigh not nearly enough for such a body, maybe 140-150lbs, with little body fat; they’d be muscular, just gorgeously so, the sort of muscular you’d see in top-tier Olympians, the Gold Medal winners at track and field, with ripped arms, thick thighs, and an absolutely shredded torso, one you could drip chocolate syrup on just to see where the sweet sugar spills…

But…

Kakashi was a superhero.

He’d clearly battling supervillains for a long, long time. He wore all kinds of scars. Cuts. Burns. Stabs. Welts. Stitches. Frostburn. Pox marks. Chain marks. Teeth marks? A boot print??

Not that it diminished his jaw-dropping splendor! Amazingly, Kakashi only seemed more impressive, having endured all that God damn nonsense, and still having that insane body…?

Seemingly unaware of anything inside Iruka’s overwhelmed boy-brain, Kakashi was currently prying the rest of his spandex suit from his hipbones, which apparently took real exertion, meaning he was moving his hips in all sorts of suggestive ways, and Iruka’s dick was suddenly responding with all the thrilled joy of a teenager finding the private Internet browser function.

He snapped out, sounding damnably strained, “Stop it, stop it right now.”

Far too obediently, Kakashi compiled, looking up at him again with the same surprise.

“I thought you wanted –” he began, but then, at once, he noticed something different with Iruka, which was horribly humiliating, because Kakashi was a black hole of etiquette at all times, and he stayed true to his standard here yet again, not letting Iruka’s obvious interest drop.

When he turned to face Iruka, the movement demonstrated the tragically beautiful strength of his abdominal muscles, and Iruka’s whole face, horizontal scar and all, burned in deepening embarrassment. He had never in his life been anywhere near anyone as gorgeous as Kakashi. Sure, he’d also never been around anyone as pathetic as Kakashi (besides, perhaps, himself), but in this lighting, in this surreal late-night atmosphere, the superhero before him stole back some of his glory and power. Tilting his face up a little, Kakashi’s silver hair went askew, revealing the long scar down his face and that he’d opened his startling scarlet-and-black eye.

“Iruka… your eyes are _dangerous._ ”

It… was not what he thought Kakashi would say.

Ever.

Kakashi was the one with dangerous eyes… especially that one he hid most of the time.

Right now, it was staring Iruka through, examining his lust.

Swallowing weakly, unable to look away, Iruka only just managed to reply, “I don’t know what you mean.” He felt fixed in place, like his feet had grown roots, and now he lived here, forever.

Kakashi’s eyes, always low-lidded, dropped even more. He rolled his right shoulder back, a source of physical tension, the site of some of the worst scars, while staring right at Iruka. While his voice came out noticeably deeper, his words were loose, light, floating like leaves in the air. 

“That only makes it worse,” he said, soft and dark. “You don’t know your power.”

Something about it – something struck Iruka wrong. It wasn’t Kakashi’s fault, not entirely. Well, it was partly the man’s fault. The lack of sleep had a lot to do with the last month’s late-night house calls of Kakashi requests of “come over to my apartment, put me to sleep, then walk back alone to your place, thank you, here’s donuts, see you again at some point with no warning.” But shit, there was school in six hours – no, God, five hours now. Plus, Kakashi had a body that Iruka could never, ever achieve, even with a gym membership, which he could definitely NOT afford, nor did he have the time to go work out, nor did he want to give up ice cream or alcohol, and eating healthy cost much more than people thought, but apparently Kakashi didn’t need to eat well to have such a smoking hot physique. Motherfucker. There was all that blood in the bedroom! And Kakashi’s silver pubic hair was promising utter fucking sin, look at it just – just what beautiful thing was it trailing to?! And Class 8 was going to BITCH so MUCH about their test grades! AND Iruka had NO IDEA how he was going to explain 5-paragraph essays to a bunch of kids who couldn’t fucking figure out how to turn on Spellcheck on Word!

Kakashi looked dizzy, but Iruka didn’t care.

He advanced on the other man like the charging vanguard of an army.

In response, Kakashi sensibly retreated, dazed, startling when his back hit the fridge. 

Although a nagging little warning bell was going off in the back of Iruka’s head, ringing ringing ringing, he was just staring deep into Kakashi’s brilliant dissimilar eyes, and then his hand was on the man’s bare chest, stretching down the particular awful scar that looked like a chainsaw had caught the superhero’s collarbone. At the sudden touch, Kakashi sagged down the fridge. The very same moment, his lovely scarlet-red eye shut, but, simultaneously, his grey eye opened wider, swimming that brighter shade. The bell was so distant – a school bell? saying class was changing? or his clock, telling him to wake up? – but Iruka ignored everything, and instead, he pushed down Kakashi’s spandex, the part over his left hipbone, exposing his tight underwear, and soon enough the waiting outline of his arousal pressing up against the cloth.

As Iruka followed his own fingers tracing the pronounced length of Kakashi’s hard cock, he could just barely hear the man make a moan somewhere in his throat. He glanced up to see what the hero’s expression might be… but he was totally unprepared for the sight of Kakashi, his half-scarred cheeks fully fearfully pink, his lips parted, his shoulders trembling ever slightly. 

With renewed eye contact, at least with Iruka’s two and Kakashi’s one, the superhero shivered all over, his entirely expression shifting into one of pitiful coy concern before sex.

“Be gentle with me?” he asked oh so quietly.

Iruka had no idea why, but he instantly answered with:

“No.”

And, oh God, he was _not_ gentle with Kakashi. Within seconds, he had the other man gasping and writhing against the fridge, which was knocking off every magnet, unpaid bill, and take-out menu, sending them all clattering to the kitchen floor, not that either of them noticed at all. In contrast, Iruka was pushing further into Kakashi, making the hero stand up on his toes, and even though Iruka had a firm and even cruel grasp on his cock, Kakashi kept thrusting up into Iruka’s hand in these erratic, frantic tries to get more, more, more. 

It was wild, seeing where Kakashi thought his hands should be: at first, the man held onto the fridge, but apparently he _did_ have some sort of advanced strength, because the metal creaked in anguish, and Kakashi winced in upset at the wicked sound, and then he reached out and snagged Iruka’s pajama shirt with both hands, using Iruka’s clothing like a lifeline.

Now that move was probably what did them both in. Ultimately Iruka couldn’t recognize himself, how he was using Kakashi’s sweat and precum to jerk him off without pause or mercy, how he found himself murderously relishing Kakashi’s increasingly pained expression of rising pleasure, how he actually sort-of loved how his fridge was shaking like there was an earthquake rocking the city from what they were doing, how he truly honestly loved how much Kakashi was holding onto him like he needed and wanted Iruka, like Iruka was making a real fucking difference.

“You gonna come for me?” Iruka asked, half his breath stolen from him. Once this had started, he found he preferred to watch Kakashi’s face – the man’s usually-miserable dispassionate expression was lit up with bliss, the kind that he was still chasing desperately right now – and his question only provoked even more wondrous stuff from the other man. 

Twisting his shoulders against the fridge, Kakashi also rotated his hips, pressing Iruka’s hand further down his cock, and he open-mouth panted at the sensation before confessing aloud in the most achingly sweetly honest tone, “Yeah, Iruka, for _you._ ”

Hell, did that do dirty things to Iruka’s cock, which raged neglected in his pants! He could answer using Kakashi’s – and, again, he felt the tiniest bit of guilt as he worked Kakashi to vent some of his excess emotion, gripping even harder somehow and pulling up at the head, several times, over and over and over, just where Kakashi seemed most sensitive and vulnerable.

The other man was literally on the tips of his toes, and his shoulders suddenly jumped, his glorious chest muscles tensing, his arms vibrating as he reached further past Iruka’s shirt and caught Iruka by his actual waist. The move should have been expected, considering all that they were doing, but Iruka was still astonished by it, and he found himself at the very last second stopping in shock, and both of Kakashi’s eyes whipped open and he stared at him with such pleading horror –

_And then he begged !_

“Iruka, _please - let me –_ ”

Oh, oh God – Kakashi thought – that Iruka had stopped on purpose – like, he’d stopped as a power move, like edging him or orgasm denial or something (!!!), when it really had just been surprise at being touched! The other man was practically flying out of his skin, out of the apartment, out of human reality, so Iruka tossed his tremendous insane guilt aside and he quickly resumed his slick fisting of Kakashi’s cock, trying to skip over what he’d just done, and –

Almost instantly, the superhero’s eyes closed as he seized up and clenched down hard on Iruka’s sides. His cum shot exceptionally, as to be expected, getting up as high as Iruka’s chest, onto his shirt, as well as Kakashi’s bare pecs. 

More unusually, though, Kakashi didn’t seem to have enough strength of his own to stay standing upright: he swayed in place for a second, then slumped down, down, down, finally landing on his ass, with his legs splayed before him. Somewhere along the way, he dropped Iruka’s waist and relocated his hands to the kitchen floor, soon dropping his forehead to his spandex-clad knees, where he stayed for some time, all while –

All while Iruka stared in total stunned wonder at what had just happened.

He… had just jerked off one of the world’s leading superheroes.

Iruka glanced at the microwave clock… 3:04 AM. It had only been 16 minutes since Kakashi knocked on his bedroom window. Okay, so maybe Kakashi came embarrassingly fast, but also.

BUT ALSO – Iruka was just out here – jerking off – people? neighbors? Kakashi? Like that was normal for him? It was not normal! Look, he wasn’t a virgin, nor a celibate monk, but his last few boyfriends had sucked, okay, actually, no they hadn’t, which was part of the problem. So, he’d been single for a while, but not so long he was just going around jerking off strangers!

Still… looking down at poor half-dressed Kakashi… the man wasn’t really… a stranger anymore.

He knew Iruka liked Chocolate-Frosted Donuts with Rainbow Gummy Worms, only the cake kind, not glazed. Only one shop in the city sold Iruka’s favorite donut, the only one way across town, no way to get to it riding his bike. That’s what Kakashi had brought tonight, it’s what he’d started bringing the last seven times. Iruka’s previous boyfriends had never gotten that right; most of them had forgotten he even liked sweets. 

Making a terribly sorry face at himself, Iruka had to admit that he definitely didn’t choose men very well. Not that he had really chosen Kakashi. This had all started with a wrong balcony and murdered tomato plants, and somehow, the man’s cum was on Iruka’s shirt a month later?

Sighing in disbelief at life’s dumbfuckery, Iruka crouched down and tentatively touched Kakashi’s knee. He partially expected the man to startle, but instead, the hero only peered up at him with one grey eye, curious and mild, his expression one of distinctive interest. It was a new look for his neighbor, who usually looked flattened out, both his affect and appearance, into pure nothingness, flat and empty like white printer paper run over repeatedly on the highway. 

Now, though –

Kakashi quirked a beautiful silver eyebrow at Iruka, whose heart stopped entirely as a result.

He felt very stupid as he asked, “Do you need any help getting to sleep tonight?”

Sweaty, disheveled, sex-wrecked, Kakashi shot Iruka a subtle smile, one so stirring it could tempt kings into war. “I think you already helped me,” he answered, his voice a bit broken, then he added as he stood up with sudden unexpected grace. “Ambien will do the rest of the work.”

Before Iruka could follow the other man’s logic or appreciate just how much blood there was now in every room of his apartment, Kakashi pulled back on his spandex, breezed out onto the balcony, hopped onto the railing, and then did one sailing arch to his own apartment across the way, entering without any trouble at all, signaling as always that he never locked his door.

So unsafe.

Work was surprisingly better than expected. Of course, it might have something to do with the over-indulgent self-love session Iruka had with himself for much of the 3 AM hour… but his lazy-hazy-dazy mood seemed infectious, leading his demon teenagers to accept low test grades, learn how to write 5-paragraph essays, and work on their grammar… all in one day. Ah. Not so bad, after all.

He was cycling through downtown when he saw footage from last night’s battle on the oversized screens on the TSUNADE News Building. Normally, Iruka would just glance at the TV monitors as he rode by, but today, he slowed down, and then he stopped, transfixed by it.

There was Kakashi.

It was dark, of course. 1:45 AM exactly. One of the Akatsuki – the leader, the one in the orange mask, the rest of his attire all-black – he had a little orange tail made of stone in his hand. He stood atop one of the city’s skyscrapers, his shape barely visible in the dead of night. 

But then there was a bolt of lightning.

Kakashi’s suit was too dark to see well, but his hair was so silver, and his grey eye shone.

His other eye – oh, wow.

It was like a red electric laser as he moved, lingering in the air behind him. When he fought the Akatsuki, the blows seemed so personal! So intimate and mean. They really went for each other’s throats – literally! It was like watching best friends fight at the bar, years of tension suddenly exploding over something really stupid, like a bet gone wrong over a soccer match. But there were punches that would have taken off Iruka’s head, and kicks so hard it would have made weaker men entirely sterile, and gouges undoubtedly intended to pluck eyes out of skulls.

The fight between the two – that lasted eleven minutes. The news skipped through it. 

Reinforcements arrived at 1:56 AM with a very boisterous superhero named Thunder and a much more somber man named Forest… as well as two other Akatsuki minions, fairly anonymous things, unnamed by the media, and unfortunately destined to die in the fight. 

They were dead by 2:02 AM. The Akatsuki leader had already vanished into the night.

Thunder and Forest, apparently limited to the ground, tried to reach Kakashi (“Lightning”), but he shook off the Akatsuki corpse dangling off his right arm, looked around the cityscape, spotted what he wanted to find in the far distance, and then bounded up, up, and away.

The calculations were clear-cut: 46 minutes later, Kakashi had tapped on Iruka’s window.

With donuts.

A weird rainbow-gummy-worm sensation wobbled up through him. One super sweet, artificially made, so terribly good, but so impossibly bad, too.

What Kakashi had spotted in the distance –

That was the donut shop. He… he had looked around to figure out where the shop was compared to the skyscraper that they were fighting on… and located the donut shop, Iruka’s donut shop, because he knew he wanted to see Iruka, and he… he flew off to get Iruka’s donuts! The shop was NOWHERE NEAR where the battle was! Hell, the shop was nowhere near their shared apartment complex, meaning Kakashi went out of his way to get Iruka’s donuts!

It was a gummy-worm feeling. Iruka cycled home, feeling high. He shouldn’t be delighted. He had just watched Kakashi kill a man and helped two other superheroes with another murder. Of course it was a justified murder, but c’mon, let’s all be honest here, Kakashi tore asunder the necessary atoms that kept a man alive and intact. 

In all possible ways, he single-handedly killed a man.

And then he bought Iruka donuts!

Okay, so Iruka might be a freak, but well.

Well, anyway.

Putting his bike away, changing his clothes, power-walking over to Kakashi’s apartment… all seemed like such a good idea! Admittedly, Iruka wasn’t super-sure what he was going to do. For all of the man’s visits to Iruka’s place, Kakashi only ever asked for sleep help, which had only meant a gentle hand on the shoulder and a few words of reassurance-guidance until last night. It’s not as if Iruka knew what Kakashi would want in terms of a gift, like a material possession. In terms of his hoarding, whether it was because the hero was depressed or a bachelor or both, Kakashi definitely did not seem like he needed a physical object or a treat from a restaurant.

But! Maybe seeing Iruka in the daytime would be nice? That… seemed a bit generous, now that Iruka was almost to Kakashi’s apartment. He instinctively scratched at his facial scar as he slowed down, worry descending over him like nightfall. Why would Kakashi even want to see him now? Shouldn’t he just wait until… well, until whenever Kakashi needed him again?

… did that make him a prostitute?

Wait, or was Kakashi the prostitute?

Wait, wait, wait.

He stopped in the hallway, growing ever more perplexed. 

Finally, he just said, fuck it, to himself, and knocked on Kakashi’s door. Terrifyingly distressing, though – there was no answer. But, then again, there hadn’t been before, the very first time he’d tried to stop by and apologize for nearly killing the other man with his angry ‘fuck you!’

He tried knocking again after a minute or so. 

Then, just for good measure, one more time, feeling a black stone dropping down his stomach.

Okay. Not home. That’s normal. Kakashi’s a superhero. He’s probably flying around somewhere.

Scratching at the door? The bottom of the door, to be precise…? Iruka went back, puzzled it out, and eventually went against all the rules in his book by trying to turn the doorknob.

It opened, miraculously, confusingly, predictably. Of course Kakashi didn’t lock his front door. He didn’t lock his balcony door. Immediately inside was the ancient monarch, the beige-and-black pug, who gazed up at him with truly assessing dark eyes. Feeling rather abashed, Iruka bowed his head, trying to seem respectful and as reverential as possible to a small dog. 

Something about it worked, because the pug turned curly tail and went back to its couch. That left Iruka to close the front door – and realize that Kakashi wasn’t home. As always, his apartment was overflowing with assorted trash; it was staffed by its lone little pug-dog. Now that Iruka really paid attention, he saw that the floor had very old blood stains throughout the apartment in every conceivable part of the place. His high fell more at the realization… yes, Kakashi cared enough to get Iruka donuts, but… the man was a fighter, he’d fight until he died.

He wasn’t sure what to do, where to stand, where to sit. The pug had a little couch. Kakashi might have had a couch under the pizza box towers and mountains of fast food origami, but it wasn’t particularly visible. The awkwardness of the moment seemed to creep up on Iruka: he abruptly thought about getting the fuck out of there, and maybe drowning himself in tequila.

Yet again.

As if on cue, the balcony door opened.

With his regular superhero headband down over his left eye, his expression blank as canvas, Kakashi sauntered right by Iruka standing in the living room. He wasn’t wearing spandex nor pajamas. Instead, the man sported a gigantic oversized grey hoodie, new black sweatpants pushed up his shins, tight grey socks, and street sneakers. It was such a fucking head-turning outfit on any man – but it was absolute insanity to see on Kakashi, who normally looked like he lived buried under garbage or in the crackling skies depending on his only two clothing sets.

Bewildered at being ignored, Iruka looked down at the pug, and the pug looked up at Iruka.

Around the corner, from the bedroom, the familiar sound of a man rapidly disrobing – that must be the shoes – Kakashi flinging them – one, then the other – at the far side of the closet.

Looking totally vacant, like a building project paused by a pandemic, Kakashi came back into the kitchen, wearing the grey-black pajama set he seemed so fond of. He didn’t have to pass Iruka this time. Instead, he went straight to the fridge, which he opened just as quickly, revealing –

“That stuff’s terrible for you!” Iruka exclaimed without thinking.

Kakashi’s _entire_ fridge was filled with Monster Energy Drinks, the same kind, 16 oz. black with the neon-green clawed M symbol. Every possible spot, including the butter area! Insanity!!

What was more insane, though –

Kakashi turned around faster than Iruka could see; he instantly opened a drawer, pulled out several knives, and was about to throw them to kill the unexpected intruder in his apartment. 

Iruka only knew _that_ fuckery, _that_ close brush with death, had almost-happened because –

The pug on the little couch _yelled_ at the top of its little lungs, “It’s your BOYFRIEND!” which caused Kakashi to throw the four knives instead into a small castle made out of Chinese takeout boxes, collapsing it into a number of the pizza towers, and, totally freaked out, Iruka fell backwards onto the fast food origami, which he discovered was indeed a couch, a really nice couch, because he passed out on it about a half-second later, his fight or flight response jamming the brakes on his brain and outrageous all-consuming fear solving most of his problems at once.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, y'all made me blush all damn day, good God, your comments. You guys. I've got a new little portfolio of "hey, life's OK, see, look!" thanks to you. You're all such heroes ; _ ;
> 
> As a humble token of my gratitude, here's another 3500 words a day later. Y'all deserve it. My heart can barely handle doing anything except writing for you sweethearts. Thank you so, so much. Ugh, this blush - thank you. Your words just mean the world to me. May you enjoy, may you swoon, may you be intrigued, may you laugh! 
> 
> (Also, uh... fair warning, next chapter is... so much sex.)
> 
> ____

A heavy weight on his chest… ah… the size of a pug, the shape of a pug, because… it was a pug. 

Vision blurry but clearing, Iruka stared straight at the dog curled up on the center of his chest – who soon lifted its head, returned the look, scrunched its nose at Iruka, and then – abruptly sneezed.

Totally fucking disgusted, Iruka was absolutely aghast, but he was all the more thrown when the pug glanced up above him and announced ( _the pug could talk – **the pug was talking!**_ ): “Hey, he’s awake. Stop crying.”

The pug’s tone was so abrasive, Iruka was jolted back into reality by it. After the sandpaper-harshness of the dog’s proclamation (because OK, let’s all just accept dogs talk now??), Iruka realized he was lying across the couch that had been concealed under the origami fast food wrappers and stacked pizza boxes, the one beside the similarly decorated coffee table. His head was bumped up against… oh, Kakashi’s pajama-clad thigh. The more Iruka gazed back and up, the more that he realized that the other man was sitting beside him with his head thrown back against the cushions, some of his silver hair wetly plastered to his scarred cheek, because he –

Oh, God. Kakashi was crying like a widower. Like he might be standing at a rainy funeral in a cemetery, just before throwing himself down onto the casket of his soulmate, screaming how he wanted to die too, please, God, strike him dead! let him die! how could he LIVE! without! But then just more screaming and crying and tearing out hair and wracking full-body spasms.

Watching Kakashi’s expression now was just fucking strange: the man’s mouth wavered like the falling stock market as he pulled his head off the couch to stare down despairingly at Iruka.

Their shared look was so bizarre, Iruka had no idea what to say.

Fully out of it, he heard himself lecture, “You shouldn’t drink energy drinks. They’re bad for you.”

A peculiar pause occurred.

For that second, it seemed like Kakashi didn’t move, or that he wasn’t moving, but then Iruka noticed that the superhero (and he was a superhero, just a really sad one, it was hard to remember when he was crying, but then again, the man had just obliterated a cardboard castle with kitchen knives), well – his right grey eye was doing this _incredibly odd flickering thing_.

It was turning on and off, on and off, on and off.

The eye was.

The grey of Kakashi’s eye was turning on and off. 

Sharp bright grey - flat dull grey - then back again in a fast endless loop.

The more that Iruka stared up at Kakashi, and the man stared down at him, it seemed like his single grey eye was like a lightbulb shorting out, desperate to work, but the filament had become too brittle and burning out, but then magically coming back alive, on repeat.

But… it was Kakashi’s _eye_ doing that. Not a lightbulb.

In response to the insane unusual thing with Kakashi’s lightbulb-(un)breaking-eye, Iruka must have made a face, and he must have shifted his body, because the pug jumped off his chest, causing him to grunt. At the very same time, Kakashi pulled back, his countenance changing in several unsteady stages. His hand went to his face, and Iruka was sure he’d push on his erratic eye, but instead the man pawed at his cheeks, getting rid of all the wet tear-streaks on his skin. 

Next, Kakashi plucked the damp hair drenching his scar, summoned electricity on his fingertips (what the _fuck_ ), frizzed the hair to hell by evaporating his tears, and fluffed his shaggy hair back to frayed normalcy. With another grandiose sigh, he rolled back his right shoulder a few times, a seemingly common habit of his. Then he glanced back over at Iruka, who, through his whole process, was slowly sitting up on the usually trash-covered couch to better view the other man. 

Although his expression was setting back to Complete Objective Neutrality, somehow the superhero held an air of disappointment around himself. With his silver hair dryly hiding his red-eye and scar, Kakashi’s other eye seemed to have decided on dull grey. Worse than all the other times, his skin was far too pale, ghastly ghostly white, making Iruka feel practically rainbow-bright in comparison. 

It was like neither of them knew what to say to each other.

Iruka stupidly felt at fault. Like maybe he should say, “Hey! It’s fine! I shouldn’t have been in your house!” But he also wanted to be like, “Um, hey, so – are you blind? I’m really quite concerned! I was standing right by you! You zipped by me! Then you nearly skewered me!”

They’d been this close to each other before, more than a few times, most of them being when Iruka put Kakashi to sleep down on his mattress. Also, of course, there was last night against the fridge… But, now that Iruka was thinking about it, they’d never sat down on a couch together, which, alright, that was pretty sad. Especially considering the pug had called him Kakashi’s “boyfriend”… which… ah… thinking about that…

But, just as Iruka was recollecting his brain cells and really studying Kakashi, he felt some of his sanity slip right back out his grasp. Without a doubt, the man was a disheveled fuck-mess; his apartment was a literal trash-heap, blood-stained and terribly lonesome. Yet there was something enigmatically attractive about the other man - and it wasn’t just that Kakashi was physically the most gorgeous thing that Iruka had ever encountered outside of OnlyFans.

“I can make it up to you.”

The words were said in that same quiet tone Kakashi had used last night… when he had asked Iruka to be gentle with him. It sounded so tantalizingly vulnerable, like Kakashi knew his position as prey, and Iruka the predator. It was very close to long-suffering self-silenced submission, but it wasn’t that, willfully so, at least not with Iruka. 

All at once, Iruka intuitively understood the wrong person in Kakashi’s life could make him a dutiful dead-eyed soldier. Instead, here, now, with Iruka, the appeal was instead an insecure promise, a hopeful dream.

So… Iruka said, “Okay.”

Before he knew it, Kakashi had wrapped a long, muscular arm around Iruka’s waist and swept him up into a bridal embrace, which definitely had never happened before in Iruka’s unbearably sorry life. Amid the pizza boxes and McDonald’s origami cranes, the blood stains and empty Starbucks, Iruka gasped like a girl being invited to Junior Prom and grappled with Kakashi’s bare neck, trying to find something to hold onto for safety’s sake.

In Kakashi’s world, all was well, because he easily walked through the living room, dodging trash; adjusted Iruka into one arm, opened the balcony door with his newly free hand, waved goodbye to the pug, who nodded gracefully back at him, then closed the door behind them; put Iruka back into a full two-armed hold; crouched down, jumped up, then carefully landed on the metal railing with two feet; and then –

And then!

Then!

This fucking guy!

Kakashi just! Started! Flying!

Damn, he had no etiquette!! It occurred to Iruka around the moment that they were on the balcony railing that _oh, you know, this is what the man does when he jumps, I wonder if he’s going to – and then, yep, we’re fucking flying – yep, that makes total fucking sense!!_

For reasons that now mystified Iruka, he’d thought that Kakashi needed to move his arms?? or something?? to fly, but, as it turned out, no, the superhero just… flew. He certainly had his hands full, holding Iruka very tightly, to the point that it was very possible he was bruising Iruka, but holy hell, Iruka had never, ever wanted to plummet to his death, from an airplane or from a cliffside or from the arms of a handsome stranger flying above the city at sunset, so it was fine!!

Oh.

Oh… wow. The city at sunset!

Kakashi slowed down to a hover, clearly to allow Iruka the best chance to see the whole dark gleaming cityscape in the fading rays of sunlight. The oranges burned so much, the warm autumn color overtook the whole lower part of the sky. Skyscrapers shadowed themselves black, reaching up into the radiant orange glory. Small lights signaled that here and there… oh, there were people still working, people arriving home, people making food with loved ones. Profound blue-black blanketed downwards upon the city, returning with it the sight of twinkling white stars as far as he could see in every direction.

Iruka felt eyes water; he felt heat spread across his scar.

Still in the man’s arms, he cast a look back towards Kakashi, without a word ready.

But he didn’t need them, because…

Oh, Kakashi smiled at him. A proper smile. A bit lop-sided, a little too much curve to his eyes. But… a true, sincere smile. For Iruka. Not for the sunset, nor the city, but… for Iruka, for him.

Oh, so…

He kissed Kakashi so tenderly, it hurt his very heart.

They had never kissed before… and oh, this was such a kiss!

Mysteriously, though, Kakashi was suddenly losing altitude. At the same time, he scrabbled his hands on Iruka, breaking their kiss, murmuring against his scarred cheek, “Iruka, wait, wait -”

But, oh, no, Iruka wanted them to kiss! Like, good God, who would have guessed Kakashi was such a sappy romantic?? Certainly not Iruka! He hadn’t had anyone in his life in a long time who had done anything as nice as what the other man had just done for him.

So kisses! ♥

Still – 

Kakashi’s hold was a bit frantic, and his expression shifted to a bit of alarm as Iruka kissed along his jaw and unscarred cheek and then his ear and – well, call Iruka a weak romantic slut, because – he sucked at Kakashi’s earlobe, and then bit it, he just wanted more of the man in him _now_.

 _ **Whoosh!**_ Oh, well! _**That’s fucking free fall!**_

Iruka grabbed hard at Kakashi, which was fine, because that’s what Kakashi was doing back to him, and in rather quick order, without any more kissing, he righted them in the air. They were now much closer to the Old Senju Clock Tower, and Kakashi navigated over to the clock face with much less grace than before. He impolitely kicked at the small door by the clock’s massive hands, the metal arrows pointing to the numbers, until it surrendered with a metallic crunch. Although the superhero himself seemed to catch the corner of the miniature door, he was more particular about bringing Iruka through the threshold and then depositing him on the filthy floor inside, stepping away noticeably quickly to close the door behind them.

Unexpectedly, though, Kakashi was leaning full-body against the inside of the clock face, his eye closed, his palms pressed backward against the thick glass behind him. With his legs dangled up underneath him, his shoulder-length hair loose and tossed about from the wind, Iruka felt a little like a damsel thrown off a horse, but fuck that to hell, he wasn’t some sweet-natured princess, he was the main protagonist in his own fairy tale. So, he stood up, dusted off his pants, and went over to scold the shit out of Kakashi for –

\- ah -

Kakashi’s eyes opened just as Iruka entered the one-foot radius zone around him.

The scarlet-red one, its inverted black stars sparkling forcefully, met Iruka’s eyes – and made him stop in place, made him stop moving entirely. He could feel it happening, how his feet felt like sludge had overtaken them, like black tar encrusting the stubby scaly legs of dinosaurs, damning them to eternity and then, millions of years later, damning them to be used as oil for broken-ass cars on the freeways and in the backwoods. That was him, he’d be here forever, he’d fucking die in this clock tower, he’d die like the poor damn dinosaurs.

Iruka had totally lost his breath.

“You…” Kakashi tried to say, but he was audibly out of breath, too, still staring at Iruka. Finally, he gathered enough strength to finish the sentence, all four words of it. “You can’t do that.”

Hurt and baffled, Iruka replied immediately with, “Do what?”

Unable to figure out the next part of his speech, Kakashi floundered, looking across Iruka’s expression, trying to understand what he was thinking. It was so confusing, though. There really wasn’t any hidden agenda here! Iruka kept thinking about the sunset, it was so orange, the skyscrapers so dark, and Kakashi’s lips were so soft, and then he’d dropped Iruka off like – trash? Was that what he – did he think of Iruka like - ?

Seemingly far in the distance, Kakashi made a garbled sound in his throat, and Iruka shook out of his stupor, approaching the man with renewed vigor. He felt disappointed in himself. Of course he’d chosen poorly again. The horror of having KNIVES thrown at him – that was coming back now! Kakashi’s sappy gesture – oh that was just NOT ENOUGH to make up for NEAR-MURDER! He needed to know that was completely unacceptable! He needed to bring Iruka home! Obviously Iruka had better things to do. He had – uh, he had – he… okay, he… didn’t have much else to do, there was a new thing on Netflix people were talking about, a gay meth-addict who liked tigers? (Iruka weirdly felt like he could relate, which made him feel ashamed.)

He didn’t even realize he was standing awkwardly in front of Kakashi until the other man tried reaching out for him – and then – oh, then!

Iruka nearly jumped out of the tower!

Although he was undeniably a superhero, strong and swift and powerful, Kakashi looked so, so weak in front of Iruka. He’d grown paler, he’d gotten desperate-expressioned, a bit like before.

Before, when…

Oh, the sight of dizzy Kakashi.

Catching himself, Iruka realized he’d charged up so close to the other man, but then he’d given up, disturbed by the idea that he really didn’t have anything better to do than be dumped off like trash by one of the best superheroes of the era. He wondered for a second, if anyone really had anything better to do than that… but then again, he was a bit pissed, being used as target practice, not being given any explanation for having FOUR knives thrown at him! 

Suddenly, real heat blew up from his core - he could feel it echoing out his insides - flowing upwards – outwards! Rushing rage ran out of him, his veins flooding like rivers and streams and creeks overburdened by rainfall.

Sure, yes, it was Kakashi, but, so too, school – and, shit, again, his life – and God, why, could he not find his way in the world? It looked so easy for other people on social media, but that was all lies. Still, he sat there daily, looked at it daily, ate it up daily like airy whipped cream he could eat daily, on TikTok, Instagram, YouTube, Twitter, Snapchat, Tumblr, Facebook, Reddit, Every Fucking Place, eating, it, up, feeling, terrible, about, himself.

Ah, ah fuck, fuck, fuck.

So, so, so distant from him –

“Iruka… _Iruka._ ”

With considerable concentration, he refocused on his reality, his present reality. The work was hard, because he kept seeing his students’ faces, so bland and bored, but he needed their attention, he wanted to teach them, didn’t they know that? What was his education degree for…? But, no. The voice, that voice, the one that was here, in front of him. He needed to focus on _it_.

And so his vision cleared.

He saw Kakashi, the man as pale as the moon, his eye a flat concrete grey. He was shaking extensively, his arms and chest visibly straining as he absorbed oxygen. His vision was far beyond Iruka, somewhere so unreal that it would have been impossible to reach him. Instead, Iruka took the moment to notice what had happened since he’d… he’d broken with this reality.

He’d broken with reality, he’de gotten mad, he’d isolated himself from other people.

In the nearest proximity, Kakashi had been affected by it, that was painfully obvious.

So Iruka had gotten angry – and cold – or maybe hot? – but Kakashi had taken the brunt of it, taken it to the face, the torso, the gut, the groin, taken it like a soldier, like a man, standing there, not collapsing, not surrendering, just handling the horror and the pain and waiting it out. Still, it was apparent that Iruka was doing damage, he could see that now that his power was receding, whatever the fuck it was, seriously - _whatever the good fuck it was_ \- because Kakashi looked disoriented, his eye as broken as its worst dead lightbulb days in the apartment. 

He settled on Iruka, though. Such swiftness, this superhero. Admirable. Chillingly so.

“Are you –” Looking at him, Kakashi worked through the words, his tongue heavy and leaden in his mouth, but the final word was like a final arrow shot so it could end a terrific battle for the ages. “– okay?”

The question was what Iruka had said to him out in the hallway a month ago. The similarity – no, the parallel – it was not lost on him. An astounded blush warred with his blood vessels restricting everywhere all at once, his body feeling so displeased with his terrible misbehavior.

He examined the man with increasing concern. 

God, he should never abuse Kakashi. Clearly, the superhero would take a punch to the temple, and then just drift away as flotsam debris in the ocean, accepting being hurricane wreckage. Right now, Kakashi’s eye was fully dead-flat: he seemed to be seeing right around Iruka’s forehead, about his right eyebrow, which look, fine, Iruka took meticulous care of his eyebrows, but it was clear that Kakashi couldn’t really see his hard work, he couldn’t actually appreciate it, because –

“What’s with your eyes?” he blurted out, feeling like a jackass a half-second later.

The man redirected downwards after hearing Iruka, so he could more accurately gauging where to ‘look.’ He seemed to better ‘see’ Iruka’s expression, in that he appeared to study Iruka’s worried, scarred features, with his own worried, scarred features, but – but –

There was something off about Kakashi’s gaze. It was something Iruka had noticed before. The strange way Kakashi had frequently been surprised to see him. Also, most obviously, how the man had breezed by him earlier like Iruka didn’t even exist in his world-view. So it really wasn’t so surprising when –

“I can’t see sometimes,” the superhero admitted, his tone easy. “If I was normal, maybe they’d say optic neuropathy. But I’m not normal.” He paused, and, after a second, his grey eye lightened. With that, Kakashi noticeably focused, he discernibly observed Iruka’s reaction. Shrugging both pajama-clad shoulders, he concluded offhandedly, “Maybe the lightning is destroying my vision. It’s magic. Who knows?”

Utterly appalled, Iruka stared up at the other man. He found himself stammering almost rightaway, saying something like, “What? Can’t they help you? Like, surgery? Or steroids?” But Kakashi only watched him curiously, like he didn’t particularly find it that troubling, when it was unquestionably traumatizing! … Wasn’t it?? Finding himself increasingly upset, Iruka stepped even closer to the partially blind (?!) hero, and he automatically put his hands on Kakashi’s shoulders, wanting to comfort the man, even though Kakashi really didn’t seem very bothered by a physical issue that he’d personally dealt with for much longer than the last few minutes.

Still, when Iruka’s hands pressed down from the thin cloth to his biceps, Kakashi’s shoulders dropped, both of them, but especially the right one, and the muscles of his chest loosened. That was strange to see: he hadn’t thought Kakashi was very tense, but then again, the man did seem to retain a tremendous amount of tension in his scar-saturated, long-anguished body. 

He glanced over Iruka’s eyes, loose and languid. 

“Iruka,” Kakashi said, his voice suddenly low. “You should work on controlling your power.”

Admittedly, Iruka was more preoccupied with Kakashi not being able to see some of the time. He made it seem random, like it went on and off, like maybe it was partial sometimes, total at other points? Was he just memorizing parts of his world and going about life from recollection? Could someone do that…? How would they? By smell, by sound? All while Iruka thought, he carefully petted Kakashi’s shoulders, over and over again, trying to comfort the man through time, since he was pretty fucking sure no one had been there for him in the past, besides maybe that little pug on its little couch. Which – oh, now that Iruka was thinking about it –

Oh, the pug was Kakashi’s guide dog.

Oh, Christ.

Iruka looked up with such worry at Kakashi, but he was very surprised by the pale superhero, pressed against the gleaming glass clock face, clad in his grey-black pajamas, looking back down at him with one very watery grey eye and complete wonder on his extraordinarily pale features. 

“… what?” Iruka whispered, awe-struck by the sight of someone so wonderful so focused on him.

 _“You,”_ Kakashi struggled out.

**_Oh._ **


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, you deserve something good in your life. Know I love you, I've missed you. I really hope you're okay. I'm sorry if you're not. I hope this helps, a little. I hope to hear from you, what you like, what you hope happens next. Please survive. I believe in you. I really, truly do.
> 
> _____

He knew he shouldn’t be so mean to Kakashi, but shit, Iruka wanted to kiss the man until he collapsed. Aggressive desperation rushed through him when the superhero’s hard body twisted against his, oh so glorious and good. But Iruka only really found himself going mad when Kakashi’s weak, shaky hands floated down and rested feather-light upon his shoulders. The contrast sung Twilight Zone: the man himself was pure steel, his body a skyscraper of scars and thick muscle, but his grasp on Iruka was fragile and tenuously hopeful. 

Weirdly inspired by the gap, Iruka grabbed hard at Kakashi’s cheekbones and pulled him down in a terrific series of kisses. All at once, the man’s defenses collapsed. He just surrendered, leaning down, meeting Iruka, kissing him in return with rising passion. 

It was Iruka who escalated everything, because he was deadass a whore, but Kakashi’s mouth was begging to be plundered. Silently asking for permission, he flicked his tongue hard against the man’s bottom lip, and, far too obediently, the hero opened up, parting his lips immediately. The compliance triggered something bad within him: Iruka didn’t even realize he’d grabbed a fistful of Kakashi’s hair until the other man moaned and shuddered against him. 

Their bodies intertwined even more against the glowing cream clock-face of the tower. 

The absurdity of it all should have wrecked him. Like? Who the fuck was Kakashi, really? Why couldn’t he sleep? Did he only have Monster energy drinks? There’s too much fucking sugar in that shit. And why did he cry all the time?? Why did his expression fall like a meteor sometimes?

His brain buzzing, high on hormones and confusion, Iruka pulled back and glanced up at Kakashi. The man looked pleasantly dazed, his half-scarred cheeks flushed pink. Silver hair curtained over his red eye. Better lit than normal, his grey eye seemed to be functioning, if Iruka understood this magic deterioration thing right. 

Yet the hero… he still seemed despondent after being kissed silly. Shaking much less now, Kakashi focused on Iruka with wildfire intensity. Wet tears overflowed that strange eye. The odd contrast troubled Iruka so badly, it pained him like his raw heart in a high-speed blender. 

That sad grey rain-cloud always above Kakashi – it still hung there, above him, even now.

Nah. Nah, fuck that.

The man needed a night off.

Not another night where Iruka said “Go to sleep” and touched his shoulder, sending him to dreamland.

No. 

No, a night where he –

“Come back to my place,” Iruka proposed, allowing his dark eyes to demand the rest for him. Although he couldn’t say it, he believed deep in his heart Kakashi deserved a bed for whatever happened next between them. The superhero, for all his antisocial clusterfuckness, stared back with instantly raised silver eyebrows – and then nodded several times like a bobblehead. Kakashi might have stammered had he retained the ability to speak, but his voice fled the moment that Iruka finished his offer. 

Heart in his throat, avoiding any and all second thoughts, Iruka tugged the other man towards the Alice in Wonderland door of the clock-face. Although it was terrifying to be so high off the ground AGAIN, he finally got Kakashi to embrace him (gingerly! like he might break!). 

Then they flew… back to their apartment complex.

They didn’t say anything to each other.

They both understood what would happen next, mainly because Kakashi had a hard-on that doubled as a spear, stabbing Iruka in the side through the whole flight home. They resolutely ignored that, just like they ignored how it was just stupid obvious they were going to fuck like wild bunnies when they stopped at Iruka’s apartment. It was a nice hot promise, but blowjobs in the sky seemed sort of suicidal? but perhaps, maybe not? Wondrous winds against his flustered scarred cheeks, Iruka just could not even look back at Kakashi, feeling the man’s heat against him in all sorts of delicious ways. He was going to be with… they were going to…

He held Kakashi tighter, who, without looking, embraced him more.

Instead of discussing the problem with the lock on Iruka’s balcony door, Kakashi wordlessly answered it by crushing the handle in his hand and jerking it open. He didn’t seem bothered by the force. Rather impressively, his erection remained up like a patriotic flag, eternally present.

Without a doubt, Iruka was a reliable bottom for all his partners. He was the weak-eyed thing for many a man: they liked his long hair, they liked his sounds in his bed. Even though Kakashi had been sinfully enjoyable against the fridge last night, no debate was needed who was getting fucked in bed tonight. It was Iruka. It was always Iruka. He was always. You know. Getting fucked. By men. By life. By. Everyone. By. Everything. Ughh. Ugh. God. Godddd.

Once loose, Kakashi suddenly stiffened his hold in his greyed-out pajamas with spectacular speed. The hero stared down at him with one grey eye wide with surprise. Yet before Iruka could even say anything, the man’s shock fell into skepticism, lightning fading from his eye. 

“Get out of your head,” Kakashi counseled softly, squeezing Iruka in his arms. “Stay here with me.”

Iruka… well, he didn’t… he didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t sure the last time someone asked him to stay present or sincerely wanted to know how he was. Sure, there was those pleasantries that people exchanged, how the teachers greeted each other in the halls. But no one meant them, you sure as shit weren’t supposed to say, IS THIS ALL THERE IS TO LIFE? THIS IS MISERABLE! THIS CAN’T BE IT!, so… “yep, doing just fine, thank you, great weather today!”

He just stared, unsure what to say.

At first Kakashi’s stare skimmed only the surface, but then the look deepened, as it had before when Iruka first helped the hero to sleep. Soon the man was diving deep into Iruka, plunging into scars and trauma, searching for flaws and shadows, hounding out every possible weakness.

It flustered him. _To have someone look._ Really look. And… That to have someone want to look… That they wanted _to see him._

But then Kakashi picked him up. Body, mind, soul. Got him out of the moment. 

He brought Iruka into the other room, the bedroom. 

Instead of throwing him on the mattress, though…

Kakashi settled back and pulled Iruka atop him in a style that should have been so much more awkward considering how little they’d physically interacted with each other. Instantly, rowdy excitement poured back through Iruka, distracting him from the tense moment in the living room. His body really could not give a flying fuck about the past weirdness: it was just so perfectly pleased to grind against this wondrously sculpted, amazingly available Adonis. 

In the low lighting of the bedroom, laid out underneath him, Kakashi’s silver hair drifted off his face, revealing his scar and red eye, leaving him looking like a lost lover, lonely but spellbound.

When they resumed kissing, Iruka couldn’t help but pin Kakashi down to the bed. 

Even though his mind was almost always a Jackson Pollock mess, right now, Iruka could not think of a single thing. Just, endless repetition of: Fuck yes, fuck yes. Combined with: He’s so hot. He’s so damn hot. He’s here. He’s here with me. There was not one more thing than that. 

Whenever he faintly remembered Kakashi hurled knives at him, or Kakashi slummed in a literal trash-heap for a home, or Kakashi murdered a villain a few hours ago – ah, fuck, his sharp delightful hipbones were Satanic, no, angelic, no, some sweet hybrid crossbreed.

“You’ll have me?” 

He gazed down at the superhero, totally at a loss.

So very beautifully disheveled, Kakashi’s low-lidded eyes met Iruka’s and lowered even more. Shirtless, thus showing all of his thousand hard-won scars, Kakashi slowly caressed calloused fingers down Iruka’s arm and murmured in a strange tone, “You can be rough if you want.”

Immediately, with his jaw dropping and eyes widening, Iruka countered with an incredulous, “Wait, me, top?” and then bucked backwards, straddling Kakashi’s thighs, and gestured down at the other man, loudly making the argument, “Look at you! Look at all of this!” 

The hard-cut eight-pack of Kakashi’s abdomen could be used for exam practice by medical students; his defined chest made Iruka want to Keto diet until he needed therapy.

Regret surged through him: damn, he really should not have compared their bodies!!

Yet again, Kakashi shifted in response so rapidly, it made Iruka’s head spin. One second, the superhero was giving gorgeous expectant bedroom eyes, the next his entire expression weakened at once like God had switched straight to KAKASHI_WOEFUL_EXPRESSION.JPG

“You don’t want me?” Kakashi posed in a lost puppy way, looking at once at Iruka and also through him, beyond him, into nothing and nowhere. The hollow tone of his voice – it was like he was distancing from the moment, like he was backing away, like he was leaving all this behind.

Pure fear flew through Iruka, seeing someone so depressed and peculiar as Kakashi also now newly distressed by what he perceived as rejection. Insecurity ate Iruka up, making him an idiot. Worse, it was nearly costing him something exceptional! Panicking just a bit, too much, he grabbed down at the other man, kissing him in pained awful apologetic reassurance, once again being cruel, seemingly like always with Kakashi. 

The other man didn’t flinch – he simply arched up into Iruka’s body, his body thin and hard.

God, it was so good, how Kakashi could handle it.

The very few times that Iruka had topped, each time he ended up more assertive than he meant. The men – well, they’d been one-night stands, not long-term partners. Dizzy gasping darlings from the bars, from Grindr, from other dating apps. Years ago now. Only three times.

Here and now with Kakashi, trying to decide what to do next, Iruka panic-started thinking frantically, urgently, ‘fuck, fuck, how do I do this, how do I do this to – for – with - another man.’ 

But Kakashi didn’t fell any sort of coquettish qualms: he reached into Iruka’s nightstand, located lubricant like he knew it’d be there, wet one of his fingers, negotiated Iruka off his lap, kicked off his pants, and pressed inside himself without blinking, all while staring blankly at Iruka’s slowly rotating ceiling fan.

Suddenly sitting on the side of the bed, Iruka watched him, not knowing what he should do. Of course he’d been on the other side of this. Awkwardly preparing himself. But this was Kakashi, his weird as hell neighbor, and this was not what he wanted to see. The man made him salivate yet also twisted him up inside. Iruka knew too well Kakashi would tolerate too much: he’d live in ruins, he’d drink death, he’d wear scraps, he’d look at nothing, he’d cry asleep.

While leaning over the man, Iruka caught Kakashi’s eye, which sparkled with surprise. At the same time, he nervously pushed the hero’s hand aside and dripped lubricant on his own fingers out of their sight. The action must have been understood, though. Pretty pink washed back through Kakashi’s ghost-grey cheeks. Unexpectedly, he shifted before Iruka could touch him, turning over his athletic body into submission until his backside was the only thing to view. 

His shoulders tense, Kakashi buried his face in the pillow when Iruka first tested him out. He kept his head down, his spine long, his hips up, his legs spread. The dichotomy of it – how beautifully built, how strong Kakashi was, in contrast to Iruka’s fingers opening him up, moving in him, turning him soft and tender, making Kakashi’s thighs quiver and his knees quake – oh, it pooled molten-lava heat in Iruka’s groin. He couldn’t keep his mouth closed, nor his eyes from roaming like thieving nomads. For all his despondency, Kakashi seemed so sweet right now, emotive and vulnerable. His shoulders had slumped in relaxation, like how his body did in Iruka-powered sleep. The pink blush of arousal and embarrassment had spread from his cheekbones down his neck to his upper back, through all those hundred or so startling scars. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Iruka murmured as he visually obsessed over Kakashi’s cock dripping precum on the dark blue bedsheets. Surprisingly, the superhero turned his face away, stiffening all over, including around Iruka’s fingers, which made Iruka’s cock twitch happy in anticipation. 

So, he didn’t like that? Being complimented? 

Well, too bad.

While smoothing his other hand over Kakashi’s ass, lifted high in the air, the action less lewd, more appreciative, Iruka firmly announced, “You know what I think of you? You’re a fighter.” 

Although he could see and feel the other man ease down, obviously insecurity was still running rampant in his thoughts. Feeling a bit mean, and much too turned on, Iruka put a knee up on the bed, pushing further into Kakashi, eliciting a sharp gasp strangled by the pillow, which only worsened when Iruka grabbed the man’s untouched cock and stroked him hard to the very tip. 

Iruka’s authoritative voice sounded foreign to his ears as he said, “… and you deserve better.” As he paid deliberate attention to Kakashi’s front and back, he watched with rushing triumph as the pink flush in Kakashi’s ghastly skin went deeper red. The hero’s moans, shoved down into the plush pillow, could be heard well enough; Iruka’s cock loved the music of it. 

Something cruel came out of him seeing how much Kakashi loved it, how much he could take. 

Sweat trickled down his scarred cheek. Dizzy from the mad heat of the man’s cock and insides, Iruka rambled aloud, “I don’t know why I’m angry all the time - but you should be. Your life is so hard... Tonight I want to make you feel good. Please, will you let me?” He had to force himself to stop pleasuring Kakashi, to bully the man into a response. 

After a moment, the hero screwed up Iruka’s bedsheets in his outstretched hands, his pale chest heaving for breath, and finally he nodded feebly into the pillow, his expression still buried and unseen. 

It was not enough for Iruka. 

Removing his hands from the other man, which made Kakashi shiver delicately, Iruka leaned up to the hero’s tussled silver hair and kissed his temple, then said in a soft-spoken order:

“Say it. Say what you want tonight.”

For a second, Kakashi kept his face flat in the pillow, somehow mysteriously able to breathe. Dew-like sweat had spread across his scarred body along with the pink-red blush. Still with his hips lifted up, his cock dripped down on the sheets, begging for attention. The man trembled, so at odds with his sculpted form, before his face turned towards Iruka, revealing his grey eye.

Iruka’s heart skipped several beats. His doctor would have been concerned.

The man’s lips barely parted, but Iruka heard the confession anyway, they were so close.

“- feel good.”

Fortunately, when Iruka gently pressured Kakashi to flip onto his back, the man obeyed without resistance. The hero seemed a little awestruck, although it wasn’t entirely apparent why. Then again, between the two of them, Iruka remained dressed in his street clothes, while Kakashi was nude, down to scars and sweat and precum. More than a bit surprised at himself, he stepped away, took off his clothes, piece by piece, and then, last, started to take down his hair.

The first time in bed, Kakashi moved quickly, sitting up, looking intensely at him.

“Keep it up,” he said in a honeyed way, implying he liked seeing Iruka’s face. Almost as if they hadn’t just been doing wildly obscene things, as if they both were with stiff-cocks and he wasn’t holding a condom, the idea that Kakashi liked his face – ah, fuck, that was the final tipping point. It made Iruka’s skin finally burst into a revolutionary blush, one building from the gutters, rising through the barracks, burning the palace, until he was full-body entirely blushing.

Kakashi seemed to quite enjoy the look on Iruka. He smiled lop-sided like he did in the sunset. Hanging his arms over his knees, he tilted his head aside, displaying his red eye and scar. A terrible enigma… so close and unbelievably ready to be fucked. “You’re interesting,” the hero proclaimed all of a sudden, observing Iruka put on the condom with laser focus. When Iruka managed to glance up, trying not to feel the awkward of his life crash back over him, Kakashi only stretched out his legs, possibly unintentionally showing off his divine, war-torn body. 

The initial period finding the right position was so unbearably uncomfortable, he genuinely considered drinking or taking drugs to dull his senses before resuming sex with the hero. Yet, thankfully, time passed, as time does, and they settled on Iruka on bent knees, with Kakashi lifted up against Iruka’s thighs with his own legs rather delectably in the air. Since they were such gorgeous fine things, it proved distracting almost right away. Although Iruka had not imagined himself a “leg man” and definitely not someone with a foot fetish… well… uh…

He couldn’t help but as he thrust into Kakashi, seeing the man’s body coil with pleasure, kiss the man’s scarred legs every once and a while. The action startled the hero every time, which was absolutely Iruka’s goal, making him active and alert and alive, so he kept kissing and biting any time Kakashi’s shaking legs came towards his own scarred face. The feel of the hero’s tight heat was painfully good, anyway – it was way. too. damn. good. The sort of ‘oh no, I’m going to come right now’ good that makes you worry your partner will only remember how BAD this is.

So… focus on Kakashi’s pleasure. Not his own.

That was strangely easy to do. 

Usually, Kakashi’s expression seemed either flat, or sad, or confused. In his walk-around life, he behaved like a depressed loser, sometimes saving humanity. However, during sex, the man was a gasping flustered mess, wantonly twisting his body, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Terribly, though, Iruka just wanted more for Kakashi.

He… **thrust!** wanted **thrust!** to inspire **thrust!** more pleasure **thrust!** in **thrust!** Kakashi **thrust!**

On cue, Kakashi shivered all over! His hands flew from the sheets to his face, like he couldn’t handle something so exquisite. The action was fearfully erotic; Iruka himself stumbled to a stop, gripping the back of Kakashi’s glorious thighs, pressing his thumbs into different deep scar tissue. 

Staring down at the superhero, he struggled desperately to catch his breath, trying to understand the man’s shaking embrace of his half-scarred cheeks. They were still united: Iruka didn’t dare pull out, he was so afraid of losing it.

But the long look across the other man’s body reminded him just how beautiful Kakashi was – and he was just so beautifully damaged from preventing world disasters. 

He needed an equal amount of affection, enough to match all he did for humanity… and Iruka could provide that freely. He could provide all of it. He would… for Kakashi.

Increasingly desperate to see the man’s face, Iruka reached down and pulled at Kakashi’s fingers, silently asking for permission. Achingly compliant with him, as always, the hero dropped one of his hands, revealing the side without scars. Now, during sex, sweet wet tears curved down his cheek. While his grey eye was nearly closed, their gazes met immediately.

Iruka couldn’t stop himself. He instantly said “Damn” out loud. Impressed. Surprised. Awed.

After so much fucking, biting, kissing, Kakashi’d become a gorgeous wreck, blushing, crying, trembling. Ugh, Iruka’d done that to the hero. He felt his heart flutter like bird wings.

“You curse a lot,” Kakashi whispered, his silver eyelashes dotting tears on his cheek. 

Ah… now that Iruka thought about it… the other man… never cursed, did he? That was its own blush-worthy hellscape horror! Between the two of them, it seemed positively odd that Iruka should be the one using profanity. Their appearances differed so much – people probably thought he was the innocent one, and Kakashi the pervert, but look at them now, with Iruka sunk in balls-deep, resolutely holding the man’s legs up high, and Kakashi writhing so subtly, wanting more, prettily reddened all over like a maidenly virgin. 

He wasn’t sure how to respond, so instead, he pulled his cock partially out, then slowly pushed in, distracting Kakashi, causing him to shut his eye and bite his bottom lip badly. They’d both avoided the hero’s straining arousal, spilling precum on his stomach. But now Iruka felt bordering on painful ecstasy, both his own and Kakashi’s, too, so he swept his hand down, allowing Kakashi to wrap strong legs around his back, bringing them together even rougher and closer. When he rediscovered Kakashi’s slick hardness, the man’s hips jumped, he clenched down on Iruka’s pounding cock, and hell, if Iruka didn’t curse again, seeing six trillion stars all at once!

Kakashi’s laughter was new: he had never laughed in front of Iruka. The sound was small but sincere, provoking pleasure of a different kind from within Iruka. The effect astonished him. He stared, struck stupid while still inside Kakashi, who dropped his hand and opened both his eyes. 

Then, honest and direct, Kakashi said, “I like you.”

For reasons irrational and unknown, Iruka replied much more weirdly with: “I think I’m broken.” 

He regretted it the same instant he said it, because holy hell, he was fucking a man, not confessing to a therapist or a friend over text. 

After the statement, though, Kakashi’s grey eye storm-raged.

Abruptly, the hero swung his arms up and around Iruka’s shoulders, pulling him down, adjusting their position while still keeping them wonderfully coupled. Using his hips and legs, manipulating Iruka back into thrusting, Kakashi initiated a powerful kiss. Oh, it was truly a kiss, one where Kakashi tried to learn inside Iruka’s mouth, as far back as his tongue could reach, wet and hot, dangerous and near-violent. Dazed, overheating, overwhelmed, Iruka tried to remember to jerk off the other man as they fucked and kissed so wildly, but his brain seemed unable to fill in the blanks, and he couldn’t figure out what to do with himself.

As if recognizing the dilemma, Kakashi pulled his kiss from Iruka’s mouth - over his facial scar – over to his ear – all while still motivating and moving their bodies through fucking. 

The hero’s breath was scattered to the wind as he squeezed his arms over Iruka’s shoulders. Pressing his sweat-slick scar into Iruka’s, he spoke between thrusts, his lips tracing Iruka’s earlobe, “Me too. I think I’m broken, too.” Kakashi ended with a short huff of a laugh, closing his eyes, falling back slightly on the pillow. In startled disbelief, Iruka followed him with his gaze, and then pursued him, hovering over him, almost desperate to correct both of their opinions. 

Putting one forearm on the bed, he wrapped his hand under Kakashi’s neck, holding him, bracing him. Clearly preferring intimacy, the hero wrapped his powerful arms around Iruka’s back, dancing fingertips over Iruka’s spine, ghosting over one spot that always bothered him. As Kakashi held lovingly onto him, the only natural thing to do was the fuck the breath out of him. He kept his wits this time: he stroked Kakashi between them a few final times, just enough.

That was it - they weren’t able to handle much more. Maybe it was how Kakashi’s scarred cheekbone, streaked with sweat and tears, slipped along Iruka’s, like they were destined. Maybe it was the purity of the man’s embrace, how honestly that he gripped Iruka without anxiety or anger or self-consciousness. Maybe it was Iruka pouring how much he believed Kakashi deserved something like this, something this good, to feel this good - the belief he deserved this every night, not just a touch on his shoulder, but to get fucked hard and sweetly every night.

Kakashi came first and in superhero fashion. The man’s climax nearly broke Iruka’s bones. As he shuddered through his orgasm, his legs crunched down on Iruka’s waist, squeezing both sides, bruising ribs. Behind him, Iruka could feel Kakashi’s refined legs shaking up to his toes, just as his fingers piano-played across Iruka’s back out of his control. Looking down at him, the hero had thrown back his head against the pillow, the length of his throat vulnerable and vibrating.

“Wow,” Iruka muttered thoughtlessly, amazed by the sight. 

Kakashi’s grey eye slid open a sliver, wet with relief, to look at him, curious at his declaration. 

It was way too fucking much.

He came so hard, he bowed over Kakashi, nearly kissing the man’s forehead. Something was happening below him, but Iruka was so breathless, and his brain was boy-mush-nonsense. 

But, after a few seconds, he realized the hero was lazily circling the very end of his facial scar with his index fingertip as Iruka recovered from the drama of his orgasm. The action was soft and simple, very much unlike anything men had done with him after sex… ever. That epiphany was rather sad, so he skipped over it, and instead considered the fuck-drowsy single-eyed gaze of the man underneath him, who was so very sweaty and teary and messy. 

Finally, he pulled out, tied off the condom, went to the bathroom, cleaned off them both (which provoked a very interested observation from Kakashi, who silently watched him as if seeing baby penguins for the first time at the zoo – “wow, what is that, what’s going on”), and then, remembering his own poor treatment in the past, offered, “Do you want something to drink?”

Although his expression was settling back down to neutrality, Kakashi nodded. While Iruka felt a bit more self-conscious, donning his boxers, the superhero felt nothing in terms of shame. He strolled behind Iruka completely naked, which should not have been distracting, but it was, it really fucking was. Still, when Iruka opened the fridge, before he could name anything, the other man simply reached past him and grabbed the milk off the shelf. Just as fast, Kakashi opened the top and then – and then –

The bastard just drank from the carton! Like! The whole damn thing!

Iruka stared in shock. 

In the silence, though, he noticed something else.

Oh wow… like… most of his neighbors were enjoying Friday night by having sex. He blinked, realizing the sounds were from all sides: both above, below, across the hall, the right, the left. Some of those people lived alone? Those were self-love sessions?? Iruka tried not to feel secondhand embarrassment hearing so many other people having sex, when he’d just – but – 

Kakashi must have noticed his expression, SOMEHOW, which was funny since he seemed so captivated by the milk, but still, he did notice, because he finished the carton, licked his lips dry, and idly remarked, “It sounds like they enjoy living next to a projector empath.”

Iruka stared at him for a whole new reason - which was that he didn’t know that phrase. Instead of saying that, though, he just ended up saying, very cleverly:

“What?”

The pinnacle of impolite, Kakashi put the empty carton back in the fridge, glanced with his grey eye at Iruka, said in an obvious tone, “What you are,” and then headed back to the bedroom, saying over his shoulder, “I’m taking a shower. Join me if you want.”

Soon there was running water, but Iruka was just staring at where Kakashi had been.

He didn’t know that his superpower had a name.

His phone, where was his phone. Okay. What did Kakashi – “Projector Empath,” right? Alright. Put that into Google. See what comes up. Kakashi said it with such confidence. It must mean other people had it. That was normal. Some superpowers were common, like the elements. Kakashi wasn’t the only superhero who summoned lightning, after all. There were more than a few psychics, and people with superspeed and superstrength could be villains or heroes, so…

So. “Projector Empath.” What… what are they like? What is Iruka… like?

As he typed in the two words on Google, it automatically suggested the most popular search:

**Projector Empath Supervillain**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience on this update! I apologize for any little writing errors! These two are super-fun. I'm enjoying world-building in this AU.  
> __
> 
> Note: This chapter has a short section that is a bit Dark & Violent. It is not too explicit, but it is Heavy. You can skip this small part if you're not feeling it. I still adore you. You're still wonderful. The section starts with an asterisk [ * ].
> 
> If you believe you are unable to handle this material, please skip to the sentence that begins with an asterisk [ ** ] to resume the chapter. The rest is Light & Intriguing.  
> ____

Iruka didn’t go shower with Kakashi. He ended up sitting on the couch, self-imploding in silence. Later, the superhero meandered back into the living room, wearing a pair of Iruka’s loose sweatpants, obviously grabbed from the dirty laundry pile. Purchased from Good Will, the pants were black and featured red-orange books falling through the darkness. Before it had been unsettling, but now Kakashi’s shirtlessness did not distract Iruka. Instead he just awkwardly stared holes into the living room carpet, unable to think a God damn thing, unable to concentrate on any-fucking-thing. 

Totally oblivious, awfully handsome in an airheaded supermodel way, Kakashi moped around Iruka’s apartment for a while, humming to himself, with silver hair sopping wet down the scarred half his face. 

After some unknown amount of time (Iruka could not have guessed the time, not even if a hitman put a gun to his head and declared his life depended on it), Kakashi ambled out to the balcony. Then, seemingly decision made, he hopped onto the railing, jumped over to his side of the complex, opened the door, and went inside to sleep. 

The rest of Iruka’s Friday into Saturday morning sunrise contained a hundred different searches on social media and Google for his superpower --- this Projector Empathy thingamajig. 

After all, the awkward terror of Friday night wasn’t Kakashi or the weird aftermath of sex: it was Iruka bitterly realizing the truth of himself. 

So, thanks to the Internet, he’d learned empaths were one thing. 

But… “Projectors” were another.

[ * ] They were very popular on the Internet, the Dark Web especially. People liked them because they instigated murder - and fucking - and murder-fucking, because people were really fucking gross and really bored, and the Internet was completely unregulated, so Iruka found answers super easily. It was all sick-sick-sick-sick-sick. Iruka threw up. Twice. Once immediately after Kakashi left, almost right after the man shut the balcony door. The bathroom still smelled nice and fresh; the sorry superhero had stretched his fingertips across the fogged-up mirror, leaving streaks like an old spirit had drifted by, all lazy and lonesome, but wanting to be seen by somebody, anybody. But instead Iruka busied himself vomiting into the toilet, clutching the porcelain sides, chasing horrible images out of his skull hopefully into oblivion. 

The first video seemed to take place somewhere in Russia, maybe Eastern Europe? The man was around Iruka’s age – a very attractive, dark-dressed punk, with a pink-dyed mohawk, tons of silver jewelry strewn into his face, and thick black tattoos of a dozen different styles across his tanned visible skin. He held a phone camera way too close to his eyes, a rather normal shade of brown; he was speaking fast in another language. At first, Iruka thought, damn it, let me go to another video, this won’t work – but then, the man sneered, “They will fight. See? Watch.” 

The screen pulled back and showed the man opening the door to – a very traditional styled church. Passed an ornate golden frame of the Virgin Mary, tall skinny candles lit with warm flame, wooden railings, then long ancient pews, then elderly men and women alike stooped over in prayer – and the camera flipped back to the man, whose fascinating face was now contorted grotesque, twisted with evil. His shoulders shook as he declared to his audience, recognizably those watching on a live-stream, “They will fight. They will kill each other.”

It was horrible. Because they did. 

Somehow, whatever that man did, he made the others do what he wanted. They were persuaded to his bidding, which was unsaid, except his explanation to his disgusting audience online. Of course, Iruka didn’t watch nearly anything of it, but he saw a second into it, and that was too much, way too much. 

He couldn’t imagine looking at Kakashi with the same eyes that saw _that_ on his phone. That he – and this guy, this other variant kind of empath – shared a superpower – it was horrifying, it was skin-crawling. 

How could Kakashi have been with him? When he knew Iruka had this ability?? Could he really make people do such horrible things? Could he actually hurt Kakashi? Could he make Kakashi hurt other people…?

Plus, man, ugh - how was Iruka going to ever sleep again with _that_ in his head? Impossible! Sick! What the fuck!

Worse, the Internet had too many other answers. There were other things out there - besides that awful scene. The terrible truth was well, yes, the Internet had a ton stuff on it, _a lot of stuff._

[ ** ] Iruka was aghast. In normal times, he had so little ability to control himself when he spiraled. It was a roller coaster of disbelief and shock as he studied himself in dozens and dozens of other forms. As far back as superpowers had been recorded – there had been empaths, a simple and understandable superhero and supervillain, one influencing people, here and there and everywhere. 

But… more recently… there had been this projector variant, the one where people forced their emotions onto others. And those kinds of empaths were all fucking crazy. They were mean. They were mad. They were upset, and they wanted people upset with them.

And, wow… They were all supervillains. All of them. Even if they tried to start good, they just… they just all turned into supervillains. Their journey was a swift roller coaster to hell; worse, they took everyone down around them in a loud fiery crash.

It made Iruka sick. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t sleep. He just kept searching the Internet, he just kept reading shit on the Internet, he just kept watching videos.

Somehow he ended up at the coffee shop across the street sometime after sunrise on Saturday. Looking down, he saw there was a scone on a little circular white plate in front of him. Beside it was a hot cup of coffee, with milk and sugar in it, in a nice biodegradable cup, because the shop was trying to save the planet in their own tiny sweet way.

Iruka wanted to cry. He wanted to bury his scarred face in his hands and cry forever and ever.

How could he have made Kakashi happy, even for a second? It seemed surreal they’d been together just a few hours ago. His night-long insomnia tortured his brain: Iruka always overthought things, but now he questioned the fabric of reality, wondering if he’d made up someone to fill a strange void in his life. But, of course, Kakashi was too weird, and Iruka wasn’t that creative, so… he ate a bit of scone and bravely tried to sniffle back his tears, trying to stop himself from having a complete breakdown in public.

Sudden little click-clack sounds at his feet made him look down.

With a quirked black furry brow, Kakashi’s old pug stared back up at him.

He and the small dog stared at each other for a serious second - before Iruka abruptly heard two people pull out metal chairs behind him, scraping them across the concrete, and both plopped down loudly at the table literally at his back. He stiffened like a steel rod had been slammed up his spine and saw in the coffee shop window the outline of Kakashi right behind him. The other man he’d never seen before… around their age, twenties-thirties, black hoodie pulled up over his head, showing dark hair down his forehead, with a battered green US Army jacket. As the stranger turned to look at the waitress, surprise wildfire-spread through Iruka: deep pained lines spilled outwards from the man’s right eye… which… oh, oh my, oh hell.

Kakashi’s red eye, and this man’s eye – they were – they were the same. 

The appearance was so abnormal. Blood-red with emo-black birthday confetti. Yet… yet, here, two men shared the same eye on different faces, like congenital twins or surgical sweethearts.

Behind him, Kakashi seemed to have no idea Iruka was there. His pug, however, stared up at Iruka with increasing intensity, ‘WHAT THE FUCK! SAY SOMETHING??’ screaming in his little dog expression. But, oh God, Iruka could not get over the eye-thing. He’d known Kakashi’s scar was unusual, and that his red eye could rust Iruka, decaying his movements, keeping him dead still. 

It wasn’t Kakashi’s eye? It was this guy’s eye?

Oh. Was this guy… Kakashi’s ex?

Preoccupied and stunned, Iruka totally didn’t hear their order, but suddenly, in the glass window, he saw the stranger pull out a black-gloved hand from his green jacket and fool around with a loose cigarette he must have been twisting around in his pocket. Sounding rather wry, the other man commented, “No energy drink today?”

Right behind him, so close Iruka’s chest basically vibrated from Kakashi’s low baritone, the superhero countered in a short clip, “… not healthy.”

“Just realized that?” his friend quipped back, grinning at Kakashi. The scars (?) on the man’s face moved strangely, but really, Iruka felt the most uncomfortable thing was the leering glare from the new guy. Of course, the outraged pug at Iruka’s feet was giving him an equally what-the-fuck-this-is-so-rude-he-is-BLIND! look, so it was admittedly a messy situation all around. 

Still, the opportunity to eavesdrop – well – ??

Yet both Kakashi’s dog and Iruka froze as the stranger audibly lit his cigarette, inhaled sharply, and then asked, sounding casual and unbothered, “Still dating that guy who wants to kill you?”

His heart run over by tank and blown up to the moon, Iruka noticed Kakashi was suddenly holding the same lit cigarette in his right hand (had… Kakashi stolen the man’s cigarette just now? WHILE Iruka was ACTIVELY WATCHING? just how fast was he??). Leaning off to the side, doing his habit of using his silver hair to cover his scar and red eye, the hero breathed in much more slowly and deeply, before answering lowly, “That was only one time.”

Much slower, but seemingly deliberately so, Kakashi’s friend reached across the table and took back the cigarette like he was prying a sword from its protective sheath. His dry remark came during the same motion, “So… the answer’s yes.”

As he breathed out the absurd amount of dark grey smoke from his lungs, Kakashi answered him without the smallest particle of emotion in his tone. Short. Simple. Stony. “Yeah.”

Even though Iruka couldn’t see Kakashi’s outfit very well, he did unexpectedly realize that the hero wasn’t wearing his normal attire – neither the pajamas, nor the spandex. Instead… huh. His very pitiful neighbor, his last-night lover… was wearing the clothes from the day before. The unusual oversized grey hoodie, the black sweatpants, tight grey socks pulled up his shins, white street sneakers… This particular outfit was his “meeting-my-red-eye-buddy” ensemble apparently.

Iruka didn’t look down at Kakashi’s dog anymore. He found himself trying to contain his emotions: everything he’d learned overnight told him he could make this situation worse. If anything, this morning could allow him to know what Kakashi really thought of him. Already, he’d realized that Kakashi very much remembered Iruka almost-murdering him… but that he wasn’t particularly scared of it happening again for whatever mysterious reason. Apparently, he had also told this friend of his, who Iruka started to call Red-Eye in his head, distracting himself.

Breakfast for the pair arrived in the form of hot coffee and a croissant for Red-Eye and milk and a chocolate-frosted donut for Kakashi. Two thoughts imprecisely pirouetted through Iruka’s mind as he worked to restrain his feelings: was the milk because that’s what Iruka had in his fridge and Kakashi downed it all last night? was the donut because it was similar to Iruka’s favorite, only minus the rainbow gummy worms? Admittedly, very few liked Iruka’s bizarre choice of donuts. Okay. Like. No one else did. But he did, he really did. 

And. Now… Maybe… Did… Kakashi… also… like… it... too?

All of a sudden, Red-Eye announced brutally, with a grand gesture of his croissant, the pretty French thing inconsistent with his severity, “Join me. We could fix the universe. Get Rin back.”

Audibly halfway through his donut, Kakashi replied with his mouth full, not waiting a moment, “I kill her in every timeline.” His tone was completely level and flat, like a long road stretching on forever.

Instantly, the stranger countered, sulky and resentful, “Maybe not in the one I fix.” In the window, he visibly downed half of the hot coffee, which should have been painful, but Red-Eye didn’t flinch and instead seemed to find strength in the agony of burning liquid through his throat. Staring hard at Kakashi, he slammed down the coffee cup, spilling some of the black stuff, while he crushed out his next words, one by one, “We were a great team.”

Ah. Ah fuck, wait.

Iruka seemed to have the epiphany out of nowhere; his brain made an unconscious connection. This person, this Red-Eye, was a stranger to him, but obviously not to Kakashi. The men knew each other well. They’d been on a team together. They were still talking like friends… Kakashi had mentioned Iruka to him (a blush-worthy thing by itself! how important was Iruka to him...?).

And the two of them (Red-Eye and Kakashi!) had been fighting at 1:45am on Friday morning. Iruka didn’t know the time now, but he could guess it might be 7 or 8am or something? So… it had been 31 hours since the two fought in the night sky? And he’d held Kakashi 13 hours ago?

Red-Eye was, right now, a supervillain. He was the man in all-black with the orange mask. And he’d kicked, punched, strangled, and eye-gouged Kakashi for eleven minutes just 31 hours ago.

So it sadly wasn’t surprising when, unmoved, Kakashi noted, his voice empty, “I hated you.”

Just as quick, though - Red-Eye shot back, “Well, I gave you my eye, Kakashi. You owe me.”

As Iruka kept his rising feelings under the umbrella of control, he saw Kakashi’s pug look in concern between the two of them, and for just a second, the little dog whispered, very much just to Iruka, “You are being RUDE.” But he went away, repositioning himself against Kakashi’s shin, pressing his wrinkled tan-and-black pug face against the superhero’s high grey socks.

Clearly Kakashi was laser-focused on his conversation, because, while slouched down in his giant grey hoodie, he remained serenely still. “You won’t change anything. Just stop already.”

In front of him, Red-Eye rose stiff and furious in the metal coffee shop chair, his scarred face darkening. “Say it, asshole,” he bit out, jostling back in his green military jacket. “You want to.”

A shot of sick pain ricocheted through Iruka as he heard Kakashi exhale soft and miserable. His voice fell out of him like dirty rain trickling towards the gutter, “… Rin wouldn’t want you to do all this for her.”

“Fuck you, jackass,” Red-Eye muttered, keeping some words to himself. Iruka finally heard him again with “- keep saving this timeline – for what?” The supervillain’s scoff chilled Iruka an made him feel small and weak. The next words worsened that notion. “Unbelievable. Idiot.”

Kakashi just agreed with him in a deadened manner: “Yeah.”

So Red-Eye turned to imploring him, stretching out his army jacket sleeves, gesturing with a new cigarette, this one unlit. “Let me break it,” he insisted. “ _We’re_ already broken. If I –”

“No,” Kakashi cut in sharply. His voice had hardened into a stainless-steel knife.

The man burned the end of his cigarette and growled out the very same second, an impressive blend of intensities, “Get fucked.” But the next long pause seemed truly sinister. The window Iruka watched as Red-Eye’s dark eyebrows danced high up his forehead. “Wait. Is that what’s –”

Behind him, Kakashi moved so quick Iruka couldn’t see, but he felt the wind change around them, fierce and crazed, and the superhero verbally carved into the air cleanly with - “Don’t.”

The two men were still sitting down, but clearly for a second, they hadn’t been, because, while Red-Eye once again was holding his cigarette, Kakashi suddenly turned his head aside, revealing in the glass window he’d covered almost his entire face with a shockingly sterile-white mask. The contrast blinded Iruka since it was so different from the tight blue superhero spandex. Sweetly, but really quite stupidly, he’d become accustomed to seeing Kakashi without anything on his face. Around his apartment, Kakashi showed everything: he was bare, free, available to kiss. 

For a second Kakashi tilted his head even further, seemingly surveying something down the street. It showed Iruka that he’d accompanied the freaky bleached-white mask with a similarly creepy white headband covering his “friend”-gifted red eye. 

In the same fearful fast motion, beyond Iruka’s ability, Kakashi dropped the mask off his nose and breathed out smoke like a treasure-hoarding dragon from his nostrils alone, staring far far away from the man across the table. Then the mask was up over his nose again. Across from him, Kakashi’s literally fuming friend shook his head, the cancer stick shuddering between two black-gloved fingers, as he likewise exhaled smoke from his mouth. 

Fury blew out with the smoke as Red-Eye rasped out, _“It is._ That’s what’s stopping you?” Then he said something in another language, and Iruka’s brain twitched, trying to translate the word. He could have sworn he heard that on the playground with his middle school kids. But… but that word… Instinctively, anger roiled through him, protectiveness surging, recognizing bullying. Ignorant to Iruka’s teacher training and years of watching kids be dicks to each other, the man ground out to Kakashi, like he was breaking the sacred bro-code, “I can’t believe you.”

Of course, Kakashi acted like cared very little. He just said: “Yeah. Shocking.”

Startling the waitress who had drifted back out to check on them, Red-Eye responded by flinging his metal chair backwards and growled out, cigarette gritted between his white teeth, “Motherfucker. Let’s go. Let’s fight.”

Completely unchanged behind Iruka, still slouched down in his chair, Kakashi kept staring down the street, his white-masked face half-turned and blank-expressioned. However, to Iruka’s ears, he did sound a bit more tense when he retorted very simply with - “No.”

Obviously much more affected, and itching for a confrontation, Red-Eye pitched the cigarette into the street and grabbed the metal table, clearly intending on hurling it away as well. 

That. was. Enough.

Out of the corner of his vision, Iruka saw Kakashi’s pug’s black eyes bugging out of its little skull as he stepped around the table and shook his index finger hard at the other man. Steadying his voice, channeling all those damn Professional Development Days, Iruka reprimanded the hell out of supervillain currently staring at him like he was a pink eagle soaring down from Jupiter.

“Leave Kakashi alone. He doesn’t want to fight you.” Hot sweat ran down Iruka’s face and caught on his scar; he felt his shoulders shaking. Fear ran amuck with his rage, swept along in the swollen river of his guilt. God, of course he should have announced he was here earlier! Shit, it was wrong to listen in without letting Kakashi know that he was sitting right there. 

Now, though – defensiveness made him strong and stupid. Social media and cable news demonstrated daily the ferocity of the Akatsuki (aka “those Cloud Dicks”), and this was their infamous murderous leader, but still, fuck him for being – well – for being -! 

Currently, Red-Eye watched, slack-jawed, squinting his messy half-mutilated face, as Iruka stood up taller and declared resolutely, feeling furious heat rise up through his own scarred features, “Stop being an ass just because you can’t get what you want. I know that word you said. Calling him a whore? _How dare you.”_ He stared down the man, truly disappointed in this stranger, Kakashi’s former teammate, down to his core, somewhere writhing about in his intestines, slithering sick dark and cold, like the snake this foul man was, to say such a thing, such a God awful thing, _to his friend._ “You should be **ashamed.** ”

Although anger dominated and motivated Red-Eye before, he’d never reacted as he did now. 

In front of Iruka, the other man flinched… then across his odd features, he winced out a smile.

“You’re the boyfriend,” he sneered. His red eye blew up like half a Christmas decoration.

That very same instant, a powerful clothed arm wrapped around Iruka’s waist, and then a warm furry thing pressed into his chest, wriggling and upset, and then cold morning crashed into his sweaty shocked face as he suddenly found himself being flown over the cityscape once again.

Minutes later, they returned to the apartment complex after zigzag-skyrocketing through the morning clouds. Iruka finally realized that Kakashi was trying to lose Red-Eye… It must have worked. Clutching the huffy-puffy pug to his chest, he was fairly politely deposited on Kakashi’s balcony. The superhero brushed by him, still clad in his white-grey get-up, and strode into his apartment, past the dozen different fast food take-out architectural world wonders, around the corner to his bedroom, leaving Iruka to awkwardly step inside and close the balcony door behind him. 

The dog sneezed in his arms, attracting Iruka’s disgusted attention. When they made eye contact, he and the pug, the ancient beastie remarked disparagingly, “You were rude earlier.” Then, shrugging tiny tan shoulders, the dog looked towards its kingly couch. “But I liked how you stood up to Obito. He’s a brat.” Suddenly squirming, the pug said firmly, “Put me down.”

Red-Eye is _Obito._

Awkward only continued… Kakashi never came back out from the bedroom. 

The pug had taken up residence on his couch. It seemed to be pretending to sleep.

Feeling pale and sick, Iruka walked around all the mess, fumbling with the sides of his pants. He peered around the small hallway into the bedroom, but didn’t see Kakashi, so he tucked around into the bathroom, but Kakashi wasn’t there, either, so he went to the last place, the farthest spot… the closet, where, yes indeed, Kakashi was sitting on the carpeted floor… dressed only in his black boxers.

His odd grey attire sat piled in front of him, including his too-white mask and headband.

… oh, oh God. Kakashi was crying silently. Not… weeping or anything. Just those slow, sad tears that Iruka sometimes did when he was alone. The soft lonesome kind. The running down your cheeks, with wobbling lips, while you wonder what the fuck is going on with your life.

Kakashi was crying like that right now.

He must have heard Iruka in the bathroom, because, although he didn’t look away from the weird grey-and-white clothes, he began speaking in a quiet tone, wistful and sort of lost. 

“These are the clothes I wore on our team.” Kakashi paused, plucking at the bleached-white mask lying on top of everything else. “These clothes.” Eerie and surreal, Iruka realized he meant it, he really meant it: these very clothes made up original Kakashi’s team uniform with Obito... the supervillain. The watercolor acid-trip feeling reverberated through him further as Iruka finally faced the facts laid out in the conversation he’d overheard at the coffee shop.

It seemed possible Kakashi had once been a supervillain… and that he’d killed a girl named…

Suddenly, the man looked at Iruka, his scar and red eye covered, the rest of his too-pale face wet with tears, and asked with a piteous voice, a head-spinning disparity from how he sounded at the coffee shop just MINUTES AGO –

“Why did you leave me?”

Iruka felt so stupid, but he couldn’t handle the question. Grabbing the bathroom cabinet to hold himself up, he tried to respond, stammering, swallowing dry death down his throat, “I didn’t. I would never. I’m sorry. What are you talking about?”

Yet Kakashi only gazed at him, silver hair all over his face, looking like a small animal, scared and alone in the woods. “Last night. After we...” He trailed off, his tone clear but sad, like a moody blue Instagram filter. “You got up in your head and stayed there. I hung around for an hour, but you never said anything, so I left.”

“Oh, I –” Iruka tried to reply, but he realized, _oh shit, last night, when I Google searched ‘projector empaths,’ after sex, after Kakashi told me the term, I lost track of time I was so freaked out. I totally ignored my lover! I mean, he’s awful at social skills, but fuuuuuck, fuck, fuck. I – I - … **oh God**_ so he just slowly slumped to the floor, feeling like a collapsing star, LITERALLY DYING INSIDE.

Kakashi observed him with much less scientific distance than he’d watched Obito at the coffee shop. Truthfully, in stunning contrast, the man seemed microscopically obsessed with Iruka, with his movements, with his emotions… Was his attention because of Iruka’s superpower? The idea sat like a heavy stone on Iruka’s chest: he hated the notion Kakashi was scared of him.

But something must have been in Iruka’s expression, something in his body language, something in his emotions spilling out all over the room – he couldn’t tell, he was naïve to it – but Kakashi saw it, or he felt, or both. 

In his divine human form, muscular beyond reason, the man stretched a long, scarred arm across the carpet onto the bathroom linoleum, reaching out for Iruka who was collapsed there.

Almost inaudibly, Kakashi asked, his grey eye sparkling, “Did you… not like it?” 

Shit, he didn’t know that this was all about Iruka realizing the Horrible Awful Truth of Himself and His Destined Roller Coaster To Hell! Kakashi thought it was about sex? No, that’s not! – oh, shit, oh, no! 

Lunging forward, not caring about how idiotic it made him look, Iruka snatched Kakashi’s hand and held it in both of his own and stumbled out his answer, his desperation raw and delicious like uncooked cookie dough: “I loved last night. I love your body. I loved seeing your face while I held you. You’re amazing. I’d fuck you every night. I’d fuck you right now. You deserve –”

In the span of a second, Kakashi went from pitiful-faced, hot tears rolling down his unmarred cheek, to blushing flowery-pink with one wide-open startled grey eye. Astonished by the change, Iruka stopped himself… and realized just what he’d rambled into admitting so freely. 

They were silent for a moment when, at the same time, they both looked down at Iruka’s lap, each becoming aware that in the fuzzy-wuzzy hazy-dazy love-lust confession, Iruka had become so aroused to the point that his work khakis were tented like a camper pole had been set up. 

Iruka stared, his eyes growing huge; his mouth fell open in shock. Okay. So, adrenaline from the near-fight and the fast flight stirred him up. Seeing Kakashi attacked made him protective and passionate. Plus, the man was nearly nude, victoriously scarred, a living Michelangelo marble statue. So… wow. Iruka… got it. He understood.

Iruka just wanted to kiss the man - stop him crying - spoil him - make love to him.

He looked nervously up at Kakashi, worried the man would be repulsed by him.

But the hero’s grey eye had gone half-lidded, even more so than usual, and he wore a little smile, the lop-sided one Iruka really liked, and he mused aloud, sultry, “You’ll take care of me this morning?”

And really - who was Iruka to deny such a request??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to know what you hope is going to happen next...! (Besides sex, obviously... what kind of sex? any suggestions?) I hope you enjoyed 🥺  
> 


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